Jack Whyte - The Singing Sword

I didn't raise my head, for I was concentrating so hard on what I was thinking about that I could feel the tension of a frown between my brows. "I want you to look at this and then do what I ask you to do, without any comments or any argument, understand?"

"I hear you."

"Good. Now think of the elements of a sword: blade, tang, hilt, grip and pommel. The hilt fits over the tang to add weight to the fulcrum and support the grip. The grip fits against that and the pommel holds the whole assembly together."

"What's this? A lesson in elementary armoury?"

"Be quiet and listen. Look at this spear of yours. A heavy, strong blade, shaped like a spearhead, but three-feet long, with a three-foot tang, the shaft, bound with strips of wood, fitted and bound together. We've been arguing about the balance because we've been looking at it as a spear."

"So? That's what it is. It's a spear."

"I know it is, but listen. I want you to try something else for me — something different — and the last thing I need right now is a list of a thousand reasons why it can't be done. I want it done, even if the end result is something I'm not strong enough to pick up off the floor. Do you still hear me?"

"Aye. What's in your mind?"

"This," I said. "I want you to make me a blade one-fourth as long again as this one is. I want you to reduce the width of it by one-fourth again, at its widest point. You follow me?"

He nodded, his eyes glowing with interest now that I was improvising. "The most difficult part, technically, will be the taper," I went on. "I want you to keep this blade double-edged and as near to straight as you can get it, and yet I want you to taper it from its point of greatest width to half that width about a hand's breadth from the point." I could see that he was holding himself in check with difficulty, bursting to speak. "Can you do that?"

He surprised me by not bursting out with a response immediately. He bit his lower lip between his teeth, staring at the blade, and then he picked up my stub of charcoal and began to draw with rapid, sure strokes, weighing the changes he would have to make.

"Aye," he nodded, at last. "I can do it. But that narrowing worries me. It could be a waste of time." At least he hadn't said it would be a waste of time!

"How so?"

"You know as well as I do. The width, combined with the length." He laid his hand on the spear blade. "This thing is as strong as I could make it, but beyond the midway point from the shaft, it's too thin for the job it has to do, and at its widest, up here, it doesn't get enough support along its edges from the central spine. The metal becomes too thin. It's like a scythe — great for cutting grass, but we've got thicker, tougher things to chop."

"So? Have you a better suggestion?"

"Perhaps. Let's say, for the sake of argument, that we do what you suggest. We lengthen the blade by a quarter of its length, but we taper it by a third of its width only, instead of half. Say then we extended the taper so that the full third was narrowed from the base all the way to within a thumb-length of the point, which would be sharp and abrupt. That way, the reinforcement would be greater all along the blade, although it would still bend under the leverage from the shaft."

"What shaft? I want no shaft on this." He looked at me as if I had lost my wits. "In any case," I went on, giving him no chance to argue, "the shaft is not important right now. Let's get the blade fixed up, first. I like your idea. It obviously adds strength. But we still have to reinforce the thing. How do we do that?"

"Same way I reinforced this spearhead. Make the spine an iron bar."

"No, I don't think so. You said yourself, that doesn't give enough support to the edges. What if we merely thicken the blade?"

"How? Like what?"

I drew him a quick sketch. "Like this. Start it oblong in section and then round it."

He looked at my drawing. "Boudicca's belly, Varrus, that's just like a gladium!"

I grinned. "It is, when you draw it like that, and it will be when you make it. Except that it will be far longer and totally different. I'm serious, Equus. The proportions are different. One-third along the length from the shaft, this blade will be thinner in section than the gladium. Two-thirds along, it will be thinner still."

His eyes narrowed. "You mean a two-way taper?"

I nodded. "Yes. I told you it would be technically difficult."

"Aye, you did. You were right, too. But it's not impossible. What about the thick end of the blade? How steep a plunge there?"

"Vertical. I want it flat-ended, just like a gladium, with a tang two handsbreadths long."

"A tang!" His voice was leaden. "So, we've designed a sword! Now, can you tell me how we're going to engineer a fulcrum point that will balance this thing?"

"I think I can, Equus, but I won't know until I've tried it. I have a thought in mind, though, that might work. When can you start on this?"

He never got the chance to answer me, for the door was flung open and one of the household servants stumbled in.

"Commander Varrus! We're being attacked!"

XXI

It usually took me about five minutes to stroll from the house to the forge. Today, at my fastest speed, it seemed to take twice as long. Men were running in every direction, but there seemed to be no panic. I could hear trumpets blaring in the distance and I recognized one of our centurions as he strode past me in the gathering dark. I grabbed his arm as he swept past, oblivious to my presence, and asked him what was going on. He blinked at me in surprise.

"Commander? I'm sorry, sir, I didn't see you. It's Vegetius Sulla, sir. His place is under attack."

"Under attack? By whom?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I don't know. Don't think anyone does."

Vegetius Sulla's place! This caught me totally off guard. Of all our villas in the Colony, his was the one generally thought to be the safest from attack, since it was the most south-westerly of all, guarded by high, hostile hills at its back, with nothing to the south and east for thirty miles except the high, rolling plains that led to Stonehenge.

"Who raised the alarm?"

"A patrol of our own men, sir. They saw smoke and went to investigate, and turned up a nest of snakes. Wiped out, except for one fellow who managed to get away and bring the word back, and it doesn't look as though he'll live."

"How many raiders? Did he say?"

"They couldn't tell, Commander. They didn't get close enough to see them. They were ambushed on the way in."

"How do you know so much and so little, man?"

"I was on duty at the gate when he came in, sir. Took him up to the main villa."

"All right. Get about your business." I limped on at top speed, cursing my lame leg for the first time in years.

The courtyard and the house were ablaze with lights as men with torches scurried everywhere. Stablemen were gathering horses and the cobbled yard was a madhouse. The same four members of Picus's escort were standing at the main entrance to the house itself, a four-man island of immobility in a sea of chaos. I went right to them.

"Is Legate Picus here?"

"Inside, Commander."

I passed them and made my way through the crush and into the house, where the first person I saw was my wife, white-faced but calm, although her eyes were full of apprehension. This was the first time real danger had ever come close to her. I crossed to meet her as she came towards me and took her in my arms. She was trembling. I kissed her, hugging her hard, heedless of who was watching.

"Don't look so worried," I whispered. "They'll never even threaten to come here. This place is in no danger. Where is everyone?"

"In Caius's day-room. What will you need?"