Jack Whyte: The Eagles' Brood

He wrote for what seemed to me to be hours, with the others reading over his shoulders, and I could see the excitement growing in them as they read. Uncle Varrus clapped him on the shoulder at one point, his voice pitched high with excitement.

"By God, Picus, that might just work! It'll frighten them to death at first and then tempt them to death afterwards! It's brilliant! We have to get word to Ullic and Uric immediately. I wonder how many bowmen they have now? Well, we'll soon find out. This will be our first chance to try both sets of troops together."

My father spoke again, his voice much clearer now. 'Tell them, lots of arrows."

King Ullic himself came, with my uncle Uric and fifty- four bowmen. It took them ten days to reach us, for they had to be summoned, and then they had preparations to make before they could set out. Titus was the messenger who rode to them with word of what was afoot. He took three horses and rode practically without rest, covering the journey of four days in three, over mountainous terrain all the way, and then he rode straight back again with the word that my grandfather's people were coming at his back. By the time they arrived, the plan of campaign had been made and all the arrangements were in place. A council of war was held on the night of their arrival, from which Uther and I were banned, and the expedition set out early the next morning.

Two hundred and eighty men rode out from Camulod that day, mounted on the pick of our herds. Uther and I watched them go, the first formal military expedition to be sent out from Camulod; the first manifestation of a new force in the land of Britain.

My father rode at their head with Uther's father and Titus. King Ullic rode further back, with his contingent of bowmen, who were mounted for this expedition on our large horses. Used as they were to their small mountain ponies, many of them would be suffering by the end of the forty-mile ride. Each of them carried two quivers of arrows, with the exception of their king himself, who was now too old to pull his own mighty bow.

At the very back of the contingent rode a party of men who looked very different from the others. Uncle Varrus had spent much time experimenting with a new shield suitable for mounted men to carry, ever since the weight of his own shield had bruised his thigh in the charge at Vegetius Sulla's villa years before. Now most of our cavalry carried circular or oval shields slung across their shoulders as they rode. The men at the back of the column, however, all carried the great, heavy scutum of the Roman legionary, and each scutum had a selection of throwing spears and javelins fitted into the leather slings at the back. They made an incongruous addition to the group, but they were there for a purpose.

Uther and I climbed to the top of the walls and watched them until they disappeared among the trees in the distance. We were sick with disappointment at being left behind, but we assured each other that the day would come when we would not only ride out, but would ride out at the head of such parties.

IV

Camulod seemed dead and deserted after the departure of the troops. They took with them even the pleasure of the games that normally filled our free time, so Uther and I went our separate ways, he to the stables and I to my uncle's Armoury, where I perched myself on my cross-chair and gave myself up to imagining the outcome of their, expedition according to the little I knew of the plan drawn up by my father and the others. It was to be two weeks before they came riding home again, battered and bloodied, but jubilant and victorious.

Uther and I tried our best to stay close to the leaders that homecoming night as they recounted all that had happened to Uncle Varrus and the other council members who had gathered to hear their news, but it was very late by the time the gathering had assembled and Occa found us and dragged us off to bed. We scrambled to hide from her, but succeeded only in attracting the attention of my father, who had neither the time nor the patience to accommodate small boys that night. We were dispatched to bed in a disgust so profound that neither one of us as much as thought of spying on Occa, which we usually did as she prepared herself for bed.

We found out about the battle the next evening from Titus, who had become the best friend Uther and I had among the grown men of Camulod—with the exception, of course, of Uncle Varrus, Uther's grandfather. Titus approached us as we fought each other with wooden swords and shields, and stood watching until I found an opening in Uther's guard and smacked him soundly on the top of his head with the flat of my blade, far harder than I intended to.

With a roar of rage, Uther threw down his weapons and came for me with his bare hands, murder and tears in his outraged eyes, and in a second we were rolling on the ground in mortal struggle. Titus pulled us apart and held us, struggling and kicking, one at the end of each of his strong arms.

"Hey!" He roared at us. "What good is there in training you to fight and be leaders if you are going to try to kill each other? There's no room for fighting between you two!" Abruptly, he bent his elbows, pulling us both against him, our faces cheek to cheek close to his own, which looked ferocious, glaring at us both. "I thought you might have preferred to hear the tale of how we fought the Saxons, but if you'd rather waste your time fighting each other, I'll leave you to it and go and dally with a woman, instead."

Our quarrel was immediately forgotten. "Tell us, Titus, tell us, please! We weren't really fighting," we squealed, almost in unison.

"Well, are you sure you want to hear? The tale might bore you." We protested immunity to boredom. "Very well then, come with me. It's getting late and this story needs a fire."

We followed him out of the gates onto the open hillside, where he stopped and looked to left and right. "Over there." He nodded to a spot that had been used as a campsite. "There's a fire pit, and logs to sit on, but no wood. Scatter, infants, and find fuel for our flames."

We were gone in a flash, returning with armloads of firewood from the great heap piled against the walls. Titus had found some kindling in the time we were gone and had crossed to borrow a burning log from another fire close by. We watched him, breathless with anticipation, as he fed dried grass and twigs to the glowing ember, blew it into flames and slowly built the fire until it could live on its own. Finally he was satisfied: he piled some good-sized logs onto the fire and straightened up to his full height, looking out across the plain below us in the growing dusk.

He hitched at the armoured kilt of leather straps around his waist and turned to us. Neither of us had spoken in a long time. We sat there staring at him, waiting for his story.

"Where can I start? Two stalwart warriors like you should be told everything. Someday it will be up to you to lead our troops." He was half joking—we could see it in his eyes—but then his face grew serious and he seated himself on a log across the fire from us. The flames were dancing high now and the logs sparked crisply.

We sat there listening to the crackling of the dry wood for long moments and then Uther cleared his throat. "The Saxon fight, Titus."

"Ah, yes. The Saxon fight! That's why we came out here, isn't it?" He paused yet again, remembering, and we hung on his silence, our eyes never leaving his face. "Those Saxons had a real stronghold there," he finally said. "We watched them from a small wood on the opposite side of the valley, and believe me, we were impressed. The priest who brought us the news of these people told us they were quartered in a fortified village on a hill. We had been hoping he was wrong, or just being an inaccurate civilian, and he was. The place was actually built on the end of a long ridge that stuck out into the marsh beneath it like, a finger. That made a big difference. Can you tell me why?"