"Who are you? Romans?"
I shook my head. "No, We are Britons, from the west."
One eyebrow rose. "Where in the west?"
"A place called Camulod."
He shook his head, slowly. "I have not heard of it."
I nodded, accepting the truth of that. "You will."
"Who are you?"
"My name is Britannicus. Caius Merlyn Britannicus. Who are you, and whence come you?"
He smiled. "I am Vortigern, King of Northumbria. In the north-east." As he spoke, one of his three companions advanced to sit beside him. I ignored this one, keeping my eyes on Vortigern. This was the man of whom my father had spoken disparagingly. The king from the north-east who had made a suicidal pact of some kind with the Outlanders.
I kept my voice pleasant. "And why does the King of Northumbria ride through South Britain with an army?"
He gave a great, barking laugh, and I felt a liking for him, in spite of my misgivings over this meeting. "Army?" he scoffed, "This is not an army. It is an escort, and not even mine. I have it by the good grace of my friend, here, Jacob of Lindum." He indicated the grizzled man who sat beside him. I looked at Jacob of Lindum and nodded. He returned the gesture soberly.
"That answers only half my question, Sir King," I continued. "You have not said what brings you to South Britain."
"No, I have not. Nor have you told me why you attacked me, or almost did."
I shrugged. "The attack was planned, but not against you. We were expecting.. .a different force."
"What kind of force?"
"A rabble, come to swell the ranks of a band of thieves who have fortified themselves in the town behind us."
He turned on his horse's back and looked at the men behind him, and some kind of signal passed among them. I felt myself grow tense, but he turned back and put my mind at ease. "I believe then we have saved you the trouble. We met them yesterday, late in the afternoon. They attempted to take advantage of our advance party, not realizing we were close behind. We chastised them and sent away those that remained to lick their wounds."
I felt a great sense of relief, and it showed in my next words. "Then we are well met here. Where are you bound?"
"To Verulamium, to hear the bishops debate."
Now I laughed aloud. "Then welcome, King Vortigern, and all your friends, to Verulamium. Now, if you will stand your men down, I will arrange for mine to escort yours, and we will enter Verulamium together, where I will introduce you to Bishop Germanus, sent from Rome, who is awaiting our return with some anxiety, I have no doubt."
Between there and the town, I explained to Vortigern and Jacob of Lindum what had been happening, and from the moment our combined forces arrived within sight of the town, the unrest was over. Faced with the menace of our combined forces, and outnumbered more than six to one, the brigands surrendered immediately to Bishop Germanus—they would speak with no one else—claiming sanctuary and bargaining for their lives with the promise of returning the stolen supplies unspoiled. The alternative they offered, and I for one had no difficulty believing them, desperate as they were, was that they would set fire to everything and die fighting. In spite of the discontent voiced by Linus's auxiliaries, frustrated now through losing their chance to spill blood, their terms were accepted and they were banished under fear of death. The stolen food supplies were then restored to their rightful owners, and regular hunting and foraging parties were dispatched to search for and procure sufficient food for all comers.
It was not until much later that day that we all came together again, the crises resolved, and this time there was ample opportunity for talk and relaxation. Vortigern's men, or rather Jacob of Lindum's, were encamped close by my own, and at Vortigern's request, I had gone with my officers into his camp, where he regaled us with fine food and wine.
At one point in the early evening, I found myself alone with Bishop Patricius, and took the opportunity to question him about the priest called Remus. Patricius remembered the man clearly enough, but did not know him well. They had merely travelled together, he said, as far as Camulod, which was the furthest west Patricius had ever been. He had met the priest while on his own way north after a visit to a brother bishop in the now almost derelict town of Isca Dumnoniorum in the south-west, having decided to visit Camulod solely to meet my aunt, since he had heard so much about her from his peers, who knew of her from Bishop Alaric's time. Remus had accompanied him after a chance meeting along the way. He then went on to tell me, however, that only weeks before our present meeting he had learned, in a letter from his friend in Isca, that a priest called Remus had been killed in that town after being caught beating a young woman to death. Still visibly upset over such behaviour and such a death for a priest, he wondered to me whether or not it might be the same man. For my part, stunned by the import of his story, I told him the entire tale of Cassandra's ordeal, and he promised to pray for both of diem.
I left him after that and walked away to be alone, feeling my heart bounding within my breast. Remus had repeated his crime, it seemed, and died for it, which meant that Uther was innocent, absolved, and I was freed from doubts and agonizing. Given, of course, that this dead priest was the same Remus! I resolved to inquire of the bishop in Isca as soon as I got home. There surely could not be two priests called Remus who walked with the aid of a stick!
XXXV
Later that evening I went looking for Lucanus, to share with him the tidings from Patricius, but before I could find him I felt myself being watched. That is a strange sensation, and one almost impossible to describe, but when you feel it, when you feel someone's eyes on you, there is no mistaking it. I froze in mid step, trying to place the emanations that assaulted me, then I turned slowly round and looked to where a figure stood in shadow, observing me.
I squinted, peering in vain to penetrate the shadows and identify more than the black shape I saw. "Who's there?" I called. "Who is that? Come out, where I can see you!"
The figure stepped forward into the light and I felt my heart give a mighty throb as my breath caught in my throat, threatening to choke me. I was looking, in astounded disbelief, at myself! And "myself' was staring back at me, wild eyed. Wordless, lost in mutual disbelief and amazement, we moved slowly towards each other. The apparition facing me was differently dressed, but of a height, build and colouring that matched me perfectly.
I was the first to speak. "Who are you, in God's name?"
He stared back at me, as though considering whether or not he ought to answer me. "Ambrose. Ambrose of Lindum. Who are you?"
"Merlyn Britannicus."
"So it was you! We met this morning. I ride with Vortigern."
He began to move sideways, around me, looking me over from head to foot, and I did the same, so that for a spell we circled each other like wrestlers. My mind was racing, for I recognized him now as the tall, helmeted warrior who had ridden behind Jacob.
"Ambrose of Lindum?" I was searching my mind for some explanation of his startling appearance, telling myself that such coincidences—such astounding resemblances between total strangers—must, and do occur. But all I could see in my mind was the stocky squatness, the short, bowed legs and the square, grizzled, red-hued face of the only other man I had ever met from Lindum. "Are you the son of Jacob of Lindum?"
He shook his head. "No. He is my uncle."
"Your father's brother?"
"No." Another headshake. He was almost squinting at me as he continued, "Jacob is husband to my mother's sister. My father was a Roman. He died before I was born. His name was Ambrosianus.. .Mar-"