Jack Whyte - The Saxon Shore

Lucanus came bustling into my room, finally, on the afternoon of the eighth day and removed the stitches that had bound me. It was the day before we were again scheduled to leave, and he examined my wound closely, peering at it from a handsbreadth away and poking and stretching the newly formed scar tissue with his fingers before professing himself well enough satisfied with the healing process, but warning me of the dangers of violent movement for a few weeks. Riding did not qualify as violent movement, he assured me. Fighting most certainly did.

I glanced at Donuil, who had also come to visit me and was standing by my bedside when Luke said that, but he smiled and shook his head, holding up his hands, palms towards me. "No danger of violence around me, Commander," he said, his native lilt strongly pronounced. "It's Eire we're going to, a sweet and pleasant land. Of course, we still have to get there from here, so I'll make no promises about that stretch of the journey."

"How will you dress?" Luke's question surprised me.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean will you ride armoured? You'll be but a small party, in a strange land. Armour might attract unwelcome attention."

"That's a risk we'll have to take." I looked at Donuil. "What d'you think, Donuil?"

"Of course we'll ride armoured." He sounded indignant. "We can be sure of our welcome at my father's hearth, but any attention we attract before we reach his lands could be unwelcome. Better armoured against it than not."

I spoke again to Luke. "Why would you ask that?"

He sniffed. "Because, my friend, you are still an invalid, that's why. Look at yourself. Your belly's still bare and the holes made by the stitches are still open. They'll itch, probably, as they heal. You'll have a frustrating job trying to scratch them beneath your breastplate, but that suits me well, because the worst thing you can do is scratch them."

"So be it," I said, affecting a sniff of disgust. "I shall ride armed and itching, and I shall heal without complaint."

The following morning, having taken leave of everyone including my great- aunt, who was already impatient for my return with her great-grandson, I met with my travelling companions in front of the stables. We were a small party, but a strong one. Nine trusted men, including the centurion Rufio, who had become Donuil's shadow, and two trainees to care for our extra horses, would accompany Donuil and me on our journey, and we would act as escort to our surgeon Lucanus as he rode, with his wagonload of supplies and gifts, to visit his friend and colleague Mordechai Emancipatus. Luke and I had decided that we would say nothing of his destination, other than that he rode to visit an old friend. Leprosy was an illness that no one spoke of lightly. The very mention of it brought terror leaping into the throats of ordinary folk, as I had discovered for myself.

I was surprised to find Ambrose waiting with the group, mounted on the massive chestnut gelding he had chosen for himself, and watching me with a smile as I approached. I greeted everyone and hauled myself up into my saddle, turning immediately to Lucanus who sat on the wagon bench, the reins gathered loosely in his hands. He winked at me gravely and I smiled, turning back to Ambrose.

"Good morning, Brother. I didn't expect to see you again so soon after our farewells."

He grinned. "I decided to ride with you for a few miles. It's a beautiful morning, and my horse here has not had a stretch in three days. I'll ride with you as far as the main road and then give him his head on the way back."

"Good," I said. "Let's go." I gave the signal to move out and the small crowd of onlookers who had gathered to see us off parted to let us pass. Lucanus went first with the wagon, and we fell in behind him, and I was aware of a deep feeling of well-being, released as I now was from all Camulodian responsibilities for the duration of our journey.

It seemed I was not the only one to feel that way. I chose to savour the drifting of my own thoughts, and I found that no one in our party showed any inclination to do otherwise. We rode in companionable silence for more than a mile, until the hill of Camulod behind us had been screened from us by the trees of the forest that now stretched unbroken ahead of us to the main north road. I had glanced at my brother from time to time, expecting him to be the one who broke our silence, since he was unaffected by any feelings of departure, but he rode as wrapped up in his own thoughts as the rest of us and appeared completely unaware that no one had spoken. Finally he straightened in his saddle and looked up wonderingly at the massive trees beneath which we were riding. I happened to be looking at him as he did so, and my curiosity had the better of me.

"What are you thinking, Brother?" I asked him, nudging my horse closer to his.

He looked at me and smiled, shaking his head. "Merely how peaceful it is here. We could be miles and miles from the nearest signs of habitation, and yet I know there are fields and farmsteads all around us, hidden by this wall of trees on either side."

I glanced at the forest lining the road. "Hardly a wall," I demurred, "but they stretch a good hundred paces to right and left, most of the way from here to the main road. There are spots where they run far deeper."

"Why is that, Cay? Why have these trees never been cut and the ground cleared? The fields on either side are fertile and rich and the land would have more value, surely, if it were given to crops?"

"Several reasons," I answered. "All of them attributable to the earliest of the Britannicus family to settle this land. I suppose the main reason originally was to provide a screen between the agricultural lands and the main road, and then later to maintain one between visiting dignitaries and the sight of honest labour on either side, but there's also the matter of the trees themselves. Look at them. They are all prime: elm, beech, chestnut and oak; not only decorative, but good building materials, and hence too valuable to destroy merely to clear land. When the Villa Britannicus was new, no one ever perceived that there might be a need for more farming land. This was hunting territory. That's why there's no heavy underbrush; it's all burned out regularly to leave the grazing free for deer and other animals."

"Are you serious?"

"Of course I am. Why should that surprise you? Don't you do that where you come from?"

He shook his head, a rueful grin twisting his face. "Burn out the underbrush? No, that would take forethought, and the luxury of time to hunt anything other than raiders. I suppose it might have been done, long ago, but if it was there's no memory of it. We have forests aplenty, but they grow on their own, without help from us, other than an accidental burning or two." He broke off and looked at me. "Of course, you've never been to Lindum, have you?"

"No, Verulamium marked the northern limit of my progress through Britain.

"Hmm. Well, it's very different from this area. Not nearly so. . . what's the word I'm looking for? Settled is not accurate; Lindum has been there forever. I suppose established would be a better way to put it. This area was wealthy and established long before it became Camulod. The villas and estates around here are old and magnificent. We have villas around Lindum, of course, and several of them are quite large, but nothing there, no aspect of the wealth they display, comes even close to matching the luxuries you take for granted here."

I laughed aloud. "Well, you're fortunate to live here in that case, as are the rest of us."

"I'm aware of that . . ." His voice faded, as though his thinking had changed direction, and then he resumed in an entirely new, much quieter tone. "Caius. . . I have something to ask that I would not care for others to hear. Will you ride ahead with me?"