Jack Whyte - The Skystone

Who are you, anyway?"

I smiled and leaned on my bow. "Varrus is my name. Publius Varrus. I am a guest of Caius Britannicus. "

He drew in his breath with a hiss. "Guest, is it? Roman you are. " He pronounced the word as another would pronounce "toad" or "serpent. " I laughed. "Aye, I'm Roman. What did you think I was? And who are you?"

"Cymric. I took you for one of us, there's blind of me!" His way of talking was unlike any I had ever heard. I decided that he must be one of the local Celts. "Are you from around here, then?"

"No. " His eyes were on my face, weighing me against some kind of private measure in his head. Finally he resumed speaking. "No. I live here. Around here. But I am from the hills. The mountain land. Over yonder. " He indicated the far horizon to the north-west, where I could see no mountains, and then he narrowed his eyes and I looked to see a man approaching us from the house.

"Master Varrus, " he said as he drew close, "the Lady Luceiia is preparing to leave. "

"Thank you, " I said. "Please tell the lady I shall be there presently. " As he walked away I spoke again to Cymric. "Wait here. " I paced out the distance from where he stood to the shattered shaft of the shovel stuck in the ground in front of the root-pad of the great fallen tree. I had gauged it correctly. It was a hundred and twenty-six paces to the shovel, which I pulled from the ground, noting that the blade was still quite bright where it had been dug in, and another twelve paces to the surface of the root-pad. It towered above me as I stood at its base and wedged the shovel, its blade upturned, securely against the sandy clay of its surface. That done, I returned to where Cymric stood watching.

"Now, friend Cymric, " I said with a smile, "I have added twelve more steps to the distance, but the mark is wider, and far shorter. Let's see you hit it now. Six arrows. "

He looked at me with a pitying scowl and began to shoot. Four of his arrows sent back loud noises to announce their arrival on the shovel blade, but I had wedged it well and it stayed in place. I stood behind him as he shot, lining up six of my best arrows with their points in the ground. As his last arrow, his fourth hit, clanged its arrival on the mark, he turned back to me and saw what I had done. I could not read the expression on his face as I waved him aside. He moved without speaking, fastening his eyes on the gleam of the distant shovel blade.

"Well done, Cymric, " I said. "Four out of six is fine shooting. Delicate shooting, as you say. Now, watch this, and note the lack of delicacy. " I went into my smooth, practised manoeuvre, pulling all the way back to my ear and loosing all six arrows so fast that there was always one in flight as I released the next. We heard five sounds, one a clang similar to the sound his arrows had made and the other four quite different.

"Five, " I grunted. "Come. "

I heard him walking behind me as I led the way to the mark, knowing what I would find and positioning myself so as to hide the mark from his eyes with my back. I stopped about two paces short of the mark.

"Well, Cymric?"

I had my revenge for his scoffing and scorn when he walked past me and then stopped, silent, his eyes on the mark. His six arrows and two of mine were sunk well into the sandy base of the root-pad, around the head of the shovel. The shovel's surface showed four scratches where his points had hit and been deflected, and one deep gouge where one of mine had done the same. Four of my arrows, however, had pierced clean through the metal of the shovel and pinned it against the clay.

I spoke to his stiff back. "Not delicate, Cymric, but effective. " He turned to me, and his eyes were wide as he looked from me to the bow I held. He nodded once, and I accepted that as his recognition of a superior weapon. I stepped forward and began to collect my arrows, working them backwards through the holes they had made in the iron.

"I will be at the Villa Britannicus. If you care to visit me there, I'll be glad to see you. " I packed the arrows into my quiver. "Until then, farewell.

" I offered him my hand and he shook it, still without saying a word. I was conscious of his eyes on my back all the way back to the villa. As I entered the courtyard, I saw Luceiia, Veronica and Quintus standing outside the main door of the house beside a brightly decorated, four-wheeled cart harnessed to a matched team of grey horses. There were no servants that I could see, not even a wagon driver, and I found this surprising, although I wasted no time thinking about it. They all smiled as I walked towards them.

"You must pardon me if I have kept you waiting, " I called out as I approached them, "but I was involved in a matching of wits and arrows with one of your people, Quintus. "

"You have not kept us, " Luceiia answered. "There is no rush. Who was your opponent?"

I reached them and shook Quintus's proffered hand. "Cymric, " I said.

"What does he do?"

Quintus laughed. "Cymric does nothing he does not want to do. Cymric simply is Cymric. He comes from Cambria, from the mountains, and does whatever needs to be done around here until he grows tired of it, and then he moves on. "

"I see. " I looked at Luceiia, trying not to appear too besotted with her.

"I asked him to visit me at your villa. I hope that was not foolish of me?" She laughed. "Not at all. He may even come, if he likes you. He likes few Romans. "

"I got that impression. At least he respects me, that I know. "

"La! And so he should. " She was mocking me, I thought. I looked around me. "You are ready to leave. My horses and my gear are in the stables. I'll go and get them. "

"No, they are already gone. I sent Jacobus on ahead with them, hoping you would prefer to ride with me. "

I felt my face flush with pleasure and sought to hide my confusion by thanking Veronica and Quintus for their kindness and their hospitality. Eventually, amid smiles and waves, we left the Villa Varo and set out for the Villa Britannicus, which, I had been told, lay six short miles to the south and west. Our route lay along a well-used, rutted path that skirted the outer quadrangle of the Varo farm and swung past the great uprooted tree that had seen my triumph over Cymric. Sure enough, he was still there, watching us as we passed. I shouted and waved to him and he responded with what seemed a grudging wave in return.

Luceiia had the reins and she drove well. The cart was built for passenger comfort and obviously not for work. It had seats for six people in the bed of the wagon and a canopy of soft leather that could be unrolled in rainy weather to close in the sides. The driver's bench was cushioned and as comfortable as a wagon bench could be, and for the time being I was more content than I could ever remember being. We drove without talking for about a mile, Luceiia concentrating on the rutted path, and I on her, willing myself not to stare too hungrily at the perfection of her profile. The day was beautiful and birds sang everywhere and I was as happy and as full of bliss as any man could ever be.

Soon, however, sensing my scrutiny of her, she turned her face to me with a tiny smile. "You are very quiet this morning, Master Varrus. Is everything well?"

I sucked in a deep breath. "Perfectly well, thank you, Domina, " I replied. "As a matter of fact, I was just congratulating myself on being alive on a day like this. "

Her smile widened and she asked, "You feel no urge to talk?"

"None at all. "

"Good, then we will share the silence and the day. " We travelled on in silence, and she allowed me the perfect pleasure of simply looking at her. We both knew that I was staring ill-manneredly, but she was gracious enough to take no ill of it, and confident enough to be unflustered by it.