Jack Whyte - The Skystone

Andros was a wandering priest who had turned up on Caius's doorstep one day and never left. He was a very simple man, true to his name, "the man, " and he had the most amazing gift I had ever seen for rendering likenesses of things with a stick of charcoal. His drawings were magnificent, and yet he could neither read nor write.

"But this is marvellous! Look!" Caius was shaking his head in admiration. "Who else in this country today would have thought of using a strip of wood, front and back like this, and tying the whole thing together with thongs? This thing is easy to add to, one page at a time, in any order one pleases! And the wood gives it rigidity and makes it easy to carry. This really is astonishing, Varrus. " His admiration was immense and sincere.

"And this parchment is superlative. Where did Andros find it?"

"He made it. "

He blinked at me. "He makes parchment? Andros? Himself?"

"Himself. " I shrugged. "Himself and his two brothers, to be accurate. But I find it more exciting that they know how to make excellent papyrus."

"Where in God's name did they learn to do that?"

"Their father taught them. He learned in Rome — or in Constantinople. Maybe both places. He was a craftsman there for years. Came back here with his master before the sons were born. Taught them his trade as they grew up. He was North African, I think, from Egypt. They lived on one of the big villas out by Aquae Sulis. Andros tells me they used to supply this stuff to clerks all over the country. "

"Why did they stop?"

I shrugged. "Who knows? Anyway, Andros became a priest, but he never did learn to read or write. He only wanted to draw. Have you ever seen such skill?"

"No. These drawings are not exactly classical, but they are superb. "

"Classical?" I was astounded. "Not classical? General, you amaze me!" He looked at me oddly, and I went on. "If you look closely, and I mean really look, you'll see that those drawings are classical in every sense but the Roman. They're perfect — exact transcriptions of pure Celtic design. Ancient. Not the worthless rubbish that the pedlars are hawking all over the Empire. That is the history of your beloved Britain you're looking at. I thought you would be ecstatic about them, once you saw what they are. " He looked more carefully then, and I saw him realize that the codex that he had at first glance categorized as simple and crude was anything but that.

"You are right, of course, Varrus. I should be admiring them. They are magnificent. "

"Caius, you and I have both seen murals and mosaics in some of the finest houses in the Empire, created by celebrated artists who have no grasp of what this man does without thinking. I swear he can draw a perfect circle with one sweep of his hand. "

Caius was musing, obviously thinking about something that this codex had suggested to him. "You are right, my friend. You are absolutely correct. Ask him to visit me, next time you see him, will you?"

"Why?" I asked him, immediately defensive. "You wouldn't be thinking of depriving me of his services, would you? I find his drawings very helpful in my work. "

He smiled at me. "No, Varrus, I would not, so you may relax. I need his parchment and his papyrus, not his pen. I have a feeling that time might lie heavily on my hands now that I am no longer on active duty, and I have often thought of writing down my own theories on military tactics. It has been a dream of mine for years, but no more than a dream, due mainly to the fact that the materials for writing in bulk are not readily at hand, and I have never had either the patience or the time one needs to assemble spindle books. But this talent Andros has could give me access to a source of parchment and to a simple means of binding sheets together to protect them against loss and damage. "

I demurred, I believe, for the first time ever in my personal dealings with him.

"Why, Caius? I mean, why write military memoirs? To emulate Caesar?

To leave Rome the benefit of your experience? Why would you not write of your villa here, and of your life in Britain?"

He threw me a glance of pure surprise, thinking I was belittling him. His answer was slow and measured.

"I would write a history of my military service to the Empire because I am a soldier. It is what I know best. It has been my life. Do you find that surprising or distasteful?"

I shook my head. "No. Not at all. But it seems to me it could be a waste of time, if what you have been hinting at is true and the Empire is about to fall. "

His frown was impatient. "Come, Publius! Time spent constructively cannot be wasted. I would be writing for the benefit of those who follow me. Someone is sure to. no matter how bad things are. "

"Oh, " I said. "Well, that makes a difference. "

"But?"

"What do you mean, 'But?'" I asked innocently.

"You have a reservation. " His tone was cool. "I can hear it in your voice."

I held up a disclaiming hand. "No, Caius, you are mistaken. I think you should write. But you should write for Britain. For your son Picus, and for my sons, too. You will be their uncle. It would be good for them to know their antecedents were more than just names. "

He smiled, mollified. "That is an amusing but worthwhile thought, Publius. Very well then, I shall write for future citizens of Britain. You are a facile persuader. "

I grinned at him. "You needed no persuasion. Would you not like to return home to Rome again, now that you have the time?" His face underwent a transformation from humour to disgust. "No, I would not. The place is a cesspool!"

I was enjoying myself, for I had finally made the realization I have spoken of.

"A cesspool?" I said. "Rome?"

He looked at me warily, sensing that he was being teased. "Publius, you are baiting me. Why? You have never been this way before. " I laughed, "No, Caius, I have not. I've been in awe of you, I suppose. But now that we are to be brothers, I feel less reluctant to discuss things openly with you. "

"What kind of things?"

"Things like this — your self-delusion. "

"My what?" His voice was bristling with affront.

"Your self-delusion. You talk of your Romanism, but you are really no more Roman than Meric. Your loyalty is to this place, this land, these people you call the Pendragon. This is your home, Caius. The very thought of going to Rome is repugnant to you. You've just admitted it. "

"Perhaps I have. " His brow was creased now in perplexity. "Perhaps I have. But that in no way alters my obligations to the Empire. " I threw down the book I had been holding. "What obligations, Caius?

You have fulfilled them all and done it honestly and openly and with good will, in spite of all your reservations. But you pay only lip-service to what you have done. You haven't yet accepted that your debts are all paid in full. "

His face cleared. "That's true, isn't it? I have. That is the truth, Publius. I have fulfilled each and every one of my obligations to the Empire. "

"Yes, Caius, " I said emphatically. "You have. Now take the time to consider your obligations to yourself. Write down your life's story, by all means, but write for your own people, your family, not for the sybarites in Rome. "

He snapped his fingers. "That reminds me! I have a letter I meant to tell you about. It arrived earlier today, by courier. It seems your friend in Rome has fallen foul of Theodosius. "

I frowned. "What friend in Rome? I have none. "

"Quite. I was being facetious. I meant young Seneca. "

"Seneca?" He nodded. "I thought he was in Constantinople. When did he move to Rome, and how has he offended Theodosius? And how did you find out?"

He shook his head, smiling. "I have my sources. You forget, I made some inquiries. This one has been answered already through a fortunate combination of military emissaries to and from Rome. Its source is an old friend whom I have known for years. He has little good to say of Caesarius Claudius Seneca. Apparently the man's excesses are become so bad, even for a Seneca, that they offend the nostrils of Theodosius. Our Emperor is abstemious and really quite a devout Christian, for all that his ambition led him to the throne. "