Jack Whyte - The Eagles' Brood

"I know," I said into her hair through my own tears. "I know. His strength is fierce. He will not go until he wants to."

"And when he does, I'll be alone." Her own words shocked her, for I felt her stiffen in my arms, and then she spread her own arms, breaking my gentle hold on her and rising to her feet. She wiped away her tears with an edge of her stola and I watched the strength flow into her so that she seemed to grow before my eyes. When she spoke again her voice was firm and steady. "Well," she declared abruptly. "That's enough foolish weakness and tears for one day. My husband would be shamed had he heard that last remark." She turned her eyes on me and I saw the warmth in them. "Your uncle is one of the finest men who ever walked this world. All that I have, all the happiness I've ever known, has come directly from him. Now that his life is ending, it will be left to you and me, Caius, and to Uther, and to your children and grandchildren, to make sure that the life he lived and the wonders that he performed are not forgotten."

Excalibur was in my mind as she said these words, for therein, I knew, lay Varrus's immortality. The name trembled on the tip of my tongue, but I did not give it voice, for I remembered that only five pairs of eyes had seen and known it that I knew of, apart from my own. Those eyes belonged to Varrus himself, to his friends Equus and Plautus, to Father Andros—the man who designed the moulded hilt—and to my grandfather. I wondered now if Aunt Luceiia also knew of it, but I dared not ask, Incredible as it seemed to me then, Uncle Varrus might have kept all knowledge of it from her. She was a woman after all, above all else, and might have seen in it only a device for killing men, disapproving of it, for all her pride in her husband's creation. And so I could not ask her, fearing I might wound her with sudden knowledge of her husband's secrecy. I held my peace.

Seeing and misreading the anguished indecision in my eyes, she reached out and grasped my arm. "Your uncle will be finished soon with Uther. I know he has words for you. Go to him, Caius. Wait outside until Uther leaves and then send him here to me."

Uther was closing the door to my uncle's room as I turned into the passageway. He stood there and watched me sombrely as I approached. "He wants to see you now."

"How is he?"

"Bad, Cay. Very, very bad."

"Aunt Luceiia's waiting for you in the family room." He nodded and left. I stood there for a moment with my hand on the handle of the door and then I drew a deep breath and went inside. This time, as I approached the bed, I saw what it was that had made my first sight of the old man so shocking to me, so different. His beard was gone, and its absence had changed the entire appearance of his face.

"Uncle? Are you awake?" I was whispering.

"Yes, Caius, I'm awake. Come close."

I went and sat on the chair close by his head. "Uncle? You've shaved your beard off."

His smile was ghostly, like his voice. "Not I, lad. The damned medics. Couldn't keep it clean when I was fevered. Feels strange, as though I'm naked." He looked at me sidelong. "You're a fine man, Caius, or you will be, in a few, years. Now listen. I've much to say and little time. But I know what I have to say and you don't, so don't interrupt me. Agreed?" I nodded my head and he looked up at the ceiling, gathering his strength.

"Excalibur is yours. A sacred trust. No other knows it exists, now. Leave it beneath the floor where it is. It's safe there. Guard it with your life, Cay. That blade will cut iron chains. It's that strong. It's a king's sword, an Emperor's. Keep it in trust for the Emperor of Britain. Not Uther. Boy's too rash, too wild. He knows nothing about it."

"Does Aunt Luceiia?"

He lay silent, thinking, collecting himself, and then resumed in a slightly stronger voice. "No. The greatest thing I ever made, and I kept it from her. The knowledge would have been too dangerous for her. Men would fight wars to own Excalibur, Cay. Don't let them. Guard it in secrecy. One day, a time will come. You'll know the day, and you'll know the man. If he hasn't come before you die, pass the sword to someone you can trust. Your own son. You'll know. You've been well taught. And you have learned well. You found the secret of the Lady, Cay, and then the secret of the saddle. You'll find the secret of the King, someday. You'll know him as soon as you set eyes on him." I was holding my breath with the effort of listening, and each word he spoke burned its way into my brain. "Your grandfather Caius was my greatest friend. You know that. He was a dreamer, Cay, but a grand dreamer. He dared majestically in his dreams, and he had the courage and the strength to make his dreams come true..." I waited for him until he continued, "He started a process, Cay, a progression that you and your future sons will continue. He dreamed of—and he initiated—the rebirth of the greatness of Rome here in this Britain. He wanted to mix his blood, the blood of his people, with the blood of Ullic's people. Uther is the seed of his plan. So are you. Keep watch for Uther, Cay; he hasn't your long head. He lacks your sense of Tightness. Hold him in restraint. He will be King of the Pendragon when his father, Uric, dies, when..." His voice trailed away and then rallied. "Make him a good king, Cay. Advise him. He'll listen to you. He has great love for you."

Again a pause, this time a long one, before the feathery voice resumed, "Use the horses, Cay, and breed more. More and more horses. The Saxons cannot withstand a charge of horsemen. The horses, and the long-swords. Use them hard, and build an army to follow where they lead. You will need legions. Build them. You know how. And Ullic's longbows, Uther's people's weapons. Don't let them go. They stand for power, lad. They can win battles for you from far away. Use them. That's all I have to say. Now call your aunt and go with God."

I rose to leave, but his fingers tightened on mine and pulled me down to him again. "I had forgotten. The Armoury and all its treasures are for you. Uther knows this. There is much in there still to profit from." His eyes closed again and this time I was sure he slept, but he stopped me again as I rose to go and find Aunt Luceiia. I had to lean close to his mouth to hear, so faint was his voice. "Your grandfather Caius wants you to use the name your mother gave you..." The short hairs on the nape of my neck stirred at the tense he used, but his fingers dropped from my hand, and suddenly afraid, I hurried to the door to fetch my aunt. She and Uther were standing outside in the passageway. I beckoned, and as she hurried to his side, Uther and I looked at each other, sharing each other's grief without speaking.

We buried Publius Varrus two days later, beside his friend Caius Britannicus. That night Uther and I got drunk together, each telling the other as much as he could about what Varrus had said to him. Uther was to be King. I was to be his Councillor. From that day on, I became known to everyone except my closest family as Merlyn. Caius, the boy, had died with his uncle Publius Varrus.

BOOK TWO -Fledglings

VIII

I have spent years considering the events that shape the destinies of men and have often come close to accepting the evidence of my own experiences, for all their despair, which indicate that the zenith and the nadir of each man's life, all the grandeur and all the absurdity of life in general, are dictated by sheer chance and blind coincidence. The image that taunts me most when I think such thoughts is of a woman's mouth. It is a remembered image, not an imaginary one.

The integrity of this chronicle now demands that I write of the events that gave rise to that particular image, and to the tortuous and convoluted pathways that radiated outward, from one central set of circumstances, to confuse the footsteps of an entire people. I am not sure, however, that I can do so with detachment, even after five decades, for my emotions are as raw today as they were then. Let me therefore begin slowly and try to reconstruct those circumstances and the foolish, youthful hubris that led to the death of my youth.