Jack Whyte - The Saxon Shore

"Completely."

"I thought you would. You have thought, then, on this training?"

"Deeply."

"And what have you decided? How will you see to it the child is trained?"

"At my own hand, Sir King. I have made up my mind, long since, to give my life to the training of him, but I believe it must be in Britain, where he is to rule."

"You see no hope for him in Eire, then."

"No." I shook my head. "Not in this matter. He must be taught, from earliest boyhood, to perceive the land he rules: the people in it, its problems and its requirements. Afterwards, armed with a clear understanding of those things, and a sense of his place at the head of them, he might have some chance of succeeding in the task ahead of him, which is to combine those peoples, and the solutions to the problems that confront them, and to weld them into a common folk."

"You see him as a lawgiver?"

"Aye, among other things, but first as a soldier. A leader, as you have said, and a champion."

"Hmm. Well, you can train him in that, at least, but what of the other things?"

I shrugged, finding it easy now to smile. "The rudiments are all in place. He will learn the structure of a civilized society in Camulod, taught by its finest minds, and he will learn his place within that structure, responsibility and leadership. There, too, he will learn of weapons and of warfare, of cavalry, and of tactics and strategy. He will also study the basic elements of education, literacy, logic and polemics. He will study metallurgy and engineering, and his teachers will be the finest we can provide."

"And who will supervise these teachers?"

"I will."

"Hmm." Athol looked away again, staring into the fire, and then he spoke, announcing the decision he had reached. "So be it. My trust in you shall be no less than my sons'. You shall return to Britain, Caius Merlyn, with my grandson, at winter's end—as soon as the weather on the seas has moderated to allow you safe passage. Donuil will accompany you as my appointed guardian to the child. Connor, whose galleys dominate the seas between our two shores, will act as liaison between you and us, carrying information and, should the need arise, assistance from one to the other. We will discuss more details in the time ahead. For now . . ." He turned to face his sons. "You two will please me greatly if you leave us. I wish to speak to my goodson Merlyn of his wife, my daughter Deirdre, and your presence may hinder him from speaking with the depth I seek." The term he used to speak of me was not "good son" but rather "goodson," a single word, carrying connotations of family attachments. I had heard it used before, during the day that had passed, hut never beyond the land of the Scots. Donuil and Connor excused themselves and took their leave, and I was left alone with Athol, who moved directly to refresh our cups while I threw fresh wood on the fire at his request.

We talked far into the night, the king and I, by the brightness of his new candles and the leaping flames of the fire. I talked to him of his daughter and of my love for her, omitting nothing that I could recall. I spoke to him of her athletic abilities, of how they had amazed me at the outset when I realized that I had never known a woman or a girl so strong and supple, or so fleet and self-assured in matters of sport and physical prowess. I spoke, too, of my own frustration in never having learned how she came by such skills, and in never having learned to "speak" with her, using my hands the way she and her brother did. I told him of my youthful, arrogant belief that I could leave her for a while and then return to find her and the child she would bear me and to take up at the leaving point and spend my life thereafter pleasing her. And I told him of the times I spent with her and of the love I bore her, how it grew from nothingness into the fire that blazed to become the core of my existence, then was extinguished, utterly and dev- astatingly, for years, to spring back blazing, phoenix-like, into full life with all the agonies of true love lost and long unmourned. I talked of the home we shared in my tiny hidden vale and spoke to him of how she had felt, nestled in my grasp and how she tasted on my lips; of how I held her sheltered in my arms; of how she succoured me when I was weary and in pain; and of how she glowed with health and life and fullness when I last beheld her, advanced in pregnancy. And last, I spoke to him of how I found myself, beside her grave, close by the darkened waters of the little mere in Avalon, and of the agonies I suffered by that grave, tasting for the first time a lifetime of guilt and grief and loss.

Through all of this, King Athol sat and listened, speaking no word, allowing me to pour out my heart and soul into his ears and understanding. He was the perfect listener for my tale, because I knew that he, too, had mourned for my lost love, not once, but time and again, and was doing so now afresh. He listened minutely, absorbing every word, every flicker of expression that crossed my face, bearing the pain I suffered during this, my first complete mourning for my beloved love and for the nameless, faceless child she had prepared for me.

Only long after I had fallen silent, emptied of everything, did he speak, and then he asked of Uther. Did I still believe that Uther had violated and finally killed my love?

Exhausted as I was from purging myself, I thought long before answering, and when I did I spoke with a new confidence, finding a certainty inside my soul that told me of Uther's innocence in all I had condemned him for so ruthlessly. No, I told Athol, I did not believe that Uther was at blame. His guilt had been in my mind alone. That led me to speak of my own father, Picus Britannicus, and his unwavering sense of truth and justice; of his staunch belief in according the benefit of doubt in the absence of absolute proof of guilt. Of his belief, in other words, of the essential good in man, and of the enormity of those dark passions that could lie in all of us, capable of overwhelming anyone, but not without great struggle. I explained how he had brought me to doubt Uther's guilt, and of how that had sufficed until I fell in battle, to awaken to myself years later and find that, once again, my love had been struck down by an unknown assailant.

From there, I went on to describe my pursuit of Uther through the battlefields of Cornwall, revealing to the king, for the first time, the story I had heard from Popilius Cirro, our veteran primus pilus, concerning the capture of Ygraine by Uther and the liaison that had flourished between the two, resulting in the birth of the child Arthur. Athol listened in silence to all of this, making no judgment either of his daughter or my cousin, although at one point he uttered a single, scathing remark consigning his erstwhile ally and goodson Gulrhys Lot to eternal perdition. I ended my tale with the culmination of my hunt, when I found myself face to face, not with Uther Pendragon, but with another who wore Uther's clothes and armour. The circle was complete, and we sat silent together until the fire died down one last, long time. Finally, the king stood up.

"It is late, Goodson," he said, "and I have learned much of you this night. Thank you for telling me the things you have, and know that I consider my poor daughter Deirdre fortunate to have known you, and you fortunate to have found the happiness you had, fleeting though it may have been. Few men are blessed with love such as you have depicted here to me tonight. Get you to sleep now. Tomorrow you must show your cavalry to all my folk. This night, however, you have shown your self to me, and I shall regard it highly the remainder of my life." He dropped his hand onto my shoulder. "Sleep well. And sleep sound, for you deserve kind sleep."

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