Jack Whyte - The Eagles' Brood

"A bad business, this, Popilius."

"Aye, Commander," he grunted. "Bad through and through, but the lass is safe enough now. No more harm will reach her, and if she recovers, she'll point the finger at the whoreson who did this. If he's one of mine, I'll have the balls off him before he dies."

I believed him implicitly but made no response, allowing a silence to grow between us before asking my next question. "Do you believe in dreams, Popilius?"

He was an old soldier, too old to respond without thought to such a question. "Dreams, Commander?" he mused, eventually. "I believe they exist, 'cause I have them. But that's not what you're asking, is it? I don't believe they have any significance. I don't believe in that witchcraft stuff. J have dreams, sometimes, as I said, but I can't often remember what they're about. Why do you ask?"

His response surprised me, for I, too, had dreams I could seldom remember afterwards, and it was the memory of those, their incompleteness, that had prompted me to take this present step. I turned to face him in the flickering light of the wall torches by the door to the building, forcing myself to smile a rueful self-deprecating smile.

"Because that's why I'm here. I had one tonight that woke me completely, and it was vivid in my memory."

"A nightmare?" There was a rough sympathy in his voice, as though he were familiar with nightmares.

"No, no, it wasn't a nightmare. There was no fear. I dreamed of a storm, high, howling winds and harsh, red light. Through it walked a figure in a long,- black cloak with a high, pointed hood. He—it—was carrying the girl, out through the main gates. Ridiculous, of course, but this damned mess has been on my mind all day, and when I sprang awake the way I did, that dream seemed very real. So real, in fact, that I had to get up and satisfy myself all is well."

Popilius smiled and nodded. "All's well, Commander, but I know how you felt. As I said, I sometimes dream myself. Strange things, dreams. But the girl hasn't gone anywhere, and no one's entered the building. Lucanus sleeps in the room with her.",.

"Hmm. You're right, of course. I suppose I'm being over cautious. Anyway, I'm going back to try to sleep again. If anything strange or untoward occurs, send for me immediately, understand?"

"I will, Commander. Good night to you."

"Good night, Popilius."

And so was born the first tale of Merlyn's strange and magical powers, for when the empty cot was found, Popilius was there to remember our conversation, and he lost no time in letting everyone know. To this day I have no idea what prompted me to do what I did that night, for in those days I had no thought of ever being more than what I was then, a soldier. But there it is, something inside me told me what to do and I did it.

We conducted an investigation, naturally, into the girl's disappearance, but no disciplinary action was taken against the very worried guards. I had taken care to arrange matters so that there were enough men on guard at any given moment of the night to preclude any charges of negligence, collusion or subornment. The girl had disappeared from heavily guarded premises while her physician slept within reach of her. She had not left by any of the infirmary doors and no one had passed into the infirmary since the last time she had been seen by her guards during the third watch, when Titus and I inspected her ourselves.

Lucanus swore that when he had last seen her she was incapable of locomotion. Popilius swore that she had not been abducted during his watch, even though Commander Merlyn had told him personally of his dream that she had been abducted by a cloaked, storm-racked figure. He had been vigilant at his post prior to that, he declared—and none doubted him or his men—but afterward, he had been even more attentive to his charge. The disappearance of the injured girl was, and remained, a mystery. It became part of the legend of the Colony, and none of those involved ever told the truth of it until now. It was our secret.

As a Druid, Daffyd was familiar with the place I thought of as my secret valley; it was, and had always been, sacred to him and to his kind, who saw trees, tree-crowned hills, and tree-filled hollows as the natural habitat of their ancient gods. Uther, on the other hand, had no knowledge of the valley's existence, even though there had been times when I was sorely tempted to share my secret with him. That I had never done so was the result of a promise made to Uncle Varrus, who had first shown the place to me. He had taken me to the valley one day and made me a gift of it, telling me that every man had need of a secret place where he could be himself, by himself. There would be times, he assured me, when I would be glad to escape from my public life and rest in solitude, gathering my strength and my thoughts. Here alone, he told me, I would be safe from Uther. I had not understood what he meant by "safe," so he explained then that Uther would be a king one day, and that kings and emperors are cruel taskmasters, believing their own concerns give them the right to dictate the lives of others at all times.

This place, he told me, this valley, might come to be my only sanctuary in the whole world, but only if I kept its secret close. Here I might find some peace from time to time and let Uther rant and rave until I should return. It would do him good, his grandfather said, to realize that there was at least one man in his kingdom who could maintain some independence of his king. Uther was not yet king, but his grandfather had already been proven right.

I had thought my secret to be mine alone after my uncle's death, until the day I opened my eyes from sleep and found my father looking down at me. He had come there to fish as a boy, he told me. We fished together that day, and I told him what Uncle Varrus had told me. His only comment was that Varrus had been a wise man, and from that day my father had never come near the place again. He, too, had given it to me for my own. Over the years, I had built a strong stone hut at the water's edge, with a fine, weatherproof roof of red clay tiles that I had salvaged, a few at a time, from a great pile of the things that had lain for years behind one of the outhouses of the Villa Britannicus. I loved to sleep there beside the little lake, lulled by the gentle sound of the sliding waterfall. I had also, over those same years, varied my approach to the only entrance so that no tell-tale path would betray my sanctuary to the eyes of others.

Now I stood outside the door of the hut with Mod, gazing at the yellow lamp light that shone through the translucent glass of the window I had built into the wall. It had taken me a long time to make that window, ten pieces of thick glass joined by lead and carefully fastened into a wooden frame. It was a good window, letting in light mid keeping the weather out. I stood with my left hand on young Mod's shoulder, reluctant, for some reason I could not identify, to enter the hut.

He finally twisted his head and looked up at me. "Are we going in?"

"Aye, Mod, we are." I stepped forward and pushed the door open.

The room was small, and now it seemed crowded with three people in it. Tumac, the younger of Daffyd's two apprentices, was asleep on a pile of furs against the wall, and Daffyd sat by the side of the cot, feeding the girl Cassandra with a spoon. He turned when he heard us enter and smiled at us. The girl gave no sign of knowing we were there. She did not hear us enter and her eyes were covered by a strip of white cloth. I crossed the room and looked down at her. Her mouth was still a mess, but some of the swelling seemed to have abated.

"How is she?" I asked him.

"On the mend. She has a lot of pain ahead of her, but it is the pain of healing."

"How long will it take her to mend completely?"