Vortigern was staring directly at Pellus, the hint of a frown marring his handsome face, and knowing now what they were discussing, I sat down unobtrusively on the end of a log, safely obscured from the general view by the broad back of the man in front of me. Earlier in the day I had clearly recalled my father talking of King Vortigern: of how he was tempting fate by allowing foreign mercenaries to settle in his lands, paying them for protection with holdings of their own and thereby granting them a foothold and a promised future in Britain. Acceptable enough, he had pointed out, if only one could somehow guarantee that these same barbarians would not wish, at some time in the future, to share their new-found freedom, wealth and bounty with their friends and families, relatives and neighbours still struggling for survival beyond the sea. Someday, my father had foretold, these newcomers would arise in power and stretch themselves, claiming the land as theirs, and in so doing dispossess their hosts.
Silently, with the others, I watched Vortigern's face and waited for him to speak, admiring the effort with which he restrained his understandable wish to savage Pellus. Finally he cleared his throat and spoke, his voice clear, almost a monotone in its lack of emphasis, the hint of a gracious smile quirking his lips.
"There may indeed be room for error in my thinking, Master Pellus, but Jacob, here, spoke of alternative considerations and I would ask you to consider the alternative to my having any thoughts at all in this matter..." He allowed that to hang there, vibrating in the silence for a moment, before he continued, "Would it be better not to think at all, and therefore to do nothing? To wait, and sit back, and see my lands and my people savaged and laid waste by an endless plague of raiders from all directions?" He shook his head, still calm. "No. I can assure you, that is what Would have happened before now—years ago—had I done nothing. Because we, my people and I by ourselves, were powerless in the face of the onslaught that threatened us even before the legions left."
In spite of my own misgivings, I found myself applauding Vortigern's dignity, his decorum and his complete lack of anger. He continued to speak, looking around at all the faces watching him.
"You must understand, all of you, that these people I have...brought in...came at my invitation. They were not invaders; not pirates or savages. I sought them out, in their own land, and asked them to come here. Their fleets have made the seas around us safe again and their strength on land bars our territories to the invaders from the north. Their leader Hengist was my friend during my boyhood. He is my friend now. I know him well, him and his people, and I respect them. I also employ them in a manner that benefits both parties. We have given them land in return for their fighting skills and their assistance in protecting what is ours. I know they are alien and Outlanders, but our common interest in protecting what we hold together will lead to prosperity for both our peoples. There is a Greek word— symbiosis—that describes the situation. It involves two different species, with completely differing needs, coexisting in harmony and to mutual benefit. That is what we have achieved in Northumbria, and it is working well."
There was silence after this surprising speech as Vortigern's listeners took time to assimilate what he had said. Finally Pellus shook his head. "Well, King Vortigern," he said, "I've never heard of your symbiosis, but I know what makes sense to me and what does not. This with the Outlanders seems to me like sleeping with an adder in your bed. Better your bed than mine." He cleared his throat, shaking his head again. "I have no wish to offend you. I have shared your fire and your food and your drink and will not fight you with words you have no wish to hear. Your Outlanders are your affair and your lands lie far to the north-east, while ours are to the south-west. I pray your venture will work out for you, but hope never to see your 'allies' near to Camulod."
Vortigern smiled and stood up, bringing his people to their feet with him. "You never will, friend Pellus, but a time may come when you and yours might be glad to follow our example. For now, I will leave you with your discomfort, and free to speak your mind without fear of offending me. Good night."
He turned and made his way into his tent, and his going was the signal for the dissolution of the group around his fires. I rose quickly and left before anyone could notice that I had been sitting there in the shadows, and as I walked through the encampment towards another fire, I saw Ambrose ahead of me, crossing to my left. I called his name and waved so that he stopped and waited for me to approach him, that same look of slightly bewildered, almost hostile curiosity on his face. I stopped almost within arm's reach of him.
"You and I need to talk. Will you walk with me?" He nodded, wordlessly, and walked beside me as I led him through the lines of tents and out into the field where I had walked before. Once away from the dazzle of the campfires, our eyes adjusted to the darkness and the illumination from the gibbous moon in the cloudless sky was more than adequate to light our way until we approached a clump of large boulders that lay far enough from anywhere to be safe from casual listeners. There I stopped., "This is far enough."
"Far enough for what?" There was caution in his voice, and curiosity, and a hint of latent hostility.
"For us to talk without being overheard."
He shook his head, a tightly controlled, tense flick, as though dislodging a fly or a buzzing insect. "Why should we fear, or should you fear being overheard?"
"Because I have things to say for your ears alone."
He looked around, leaned back against a boulder and crossed his arms in front of him. "Well?"
I turned slightly away from him, glancing back towards the distant fires. These next few moments were going to be very important. "Tell me about your mother," I said. "What is her name?"
"Boudicca,'' he said, and nothing more. The name surprised me.
"Boudicca? The same as the Warrior Queen?"
"The same." There was no hint of levity about him. "My mother traced her descent directly from Boudicca, the Queen of the Iceni."
"Through three hundred years?"
He gazed at me, one eyebrow raised in the way my father had, and the way his father had before him, and for a time I thought he was not going to answer me. Then he said, "Yes, through three hundred years. You find that strange? Our blood is pure, unmixed and undiluted."
I frowned. "Your father was Roman, you said."
He nodded. "An exception to the rule. There have been others, but on the whole, not many. The Iceni of today are still the Iceni Caesar's legions fought. The same who burned the town of Camulodunum and almost took this country back from Rome."
"But you don't call yourselves Iceni today."
He shook his head, the start of a small smile on his face. "Nor did we then. It was the Romans who called us by that name."
"Of course," I said, matching his smile. "Where is your mother today?"
His face set into a mask. "Why would you wish to know that?"
I shrugged. "Mere curiosity. Is she in Lindum?"
"No." The negative was abrupt, accompanied by another jerk of his head. "I don't know where she is. I never knew my mother. I was raised by her sister, Gwilla, and by Jacob, her husband." He clearly had no more to say than that, but I could not settle for incomplete knowledge.
"You say you don't know where she is, not that she is dead. Is she in fact alive?"