My father still looked furious, but was now in control of his fury—more visibly, tenaciously in control than I had ever seen him. I had the feeling that he might come leaping across the table at me at any time. Uncle Varrus looked more troubled and hurt than angry. He gazed at me with great solemnity and it was he who spoke.
"Caius Britannicus, a great wrong has been done here this day and you have been part of it. Two boys lie injured and bleeding, gravely hurt, perhaps close to death. You are the only one who can throw light on this. The laws of hospitality have been violated in my home. Those laws are sacrosanct, as you well know. The Duke of Cornwall here, under my roof, is guarded by those laws while he is here. So is his son who came here with him. And now his son lies wounded, stabbed by my own grandson like a Saxon savage. You had better tell us why this has happened, bearing in mind that the penalty for such flagrant outrage should be death."
This long speech, delivered to me in such unnatural tones by Uncle Varrus frightened me to the point of sickness. My stomach heaved up into my throat and I had to swallow hard to keep from vomiting. I still remember the appalling feeling of inadequacy that overwhelmed me. I could not speak, although my mouth moved.
My father spoke into my silence. "Hear me, boy, and hear me well. We want the truth behind this outrage." His voice was more of a growl than anything else, hampered as it was by his wounded throat, but I had been around him long enough by then to hear the words beneath the guttural effects clearly as he continued. "No excuses. No interpretations. And no lies! Tell us exactly what happened: what was said and done, and by whom to whom." My flesh crawled. How could I repeat the words I had heard to these ears?
That was when Duke Emrys spoke for the first time, and his words were ill timed for his purposes, because the jeering, sneering tones of his harsh voice dispelled my terror and my doubts like a douche of cold water. "We'll get no truth from this whelp! See the terror on his face. My son lies dying and you ask to hear the truth from one of the two who killed him?"
He had barely stopped talking when I answered him, my own voice loud and angry, which surprised even me. "I am no liar! I will tell you what happened." I looked at Uncle Varrus, appealing to him alone, and my great anger lent me an eloquence beyond my years. "You have trained me to recall words exactly, Uncle Varrus, whether they be written or spoken. The Druids have trained me also, the same way. Lot provoked this fight. Uther was bound to kill him for the things he said. I should have killed him, too, had I been Uther, but I am not."
It was my father who responded to my outburst, and his tone was far less angry than it had been before. "Tell us what happened, boy," he said. I collected my thoughts and started at the beginning, relating the events and the conversation word for word as it had happened. I missed nothing, left out no insult, added nothing.
When I had done, there was silence for a while until my father spoke again. 'This was bad work."
Duke Emrys agreed with him. "Aye, General, foul work indeed. Murder done on a boy for spouting boy's words. Foul work indeed."
"There has been no murder done, Emrys." This was my uncle, who had finally found his normal voice. 'The boys are both alive, no thanks to themselves, and thank your gods that they are boys, for had those words been spoken between men then death would have been the end, beyond a shade of doubt."
"Pah! You make too much of words!" Emrys's voice was rich with disgust.
My father had risen and walked away from the table, but now he swung round and approached the Cornwall duke, and when he spoke his voice was menacing, the more so for the care he took to speak quietly and clearly through his injured throat. "Look you here, Duke of Cornwall. This boy is my son. Young Uther is my nephew. Uther's mother, the victim of your disgraceful son's foul slander, was Publius Varrus's daughter. My wife was sister to young Uther's father. I do not know your son, but I know he is no fit company for any son of mine. If he were here, instead of lying bleeding for his foul-mouthed sins, I would take my boot to his ill-mannered arse. Now, the laws of hospitality be damned! If you desire to defend your uncouth brat's honour as Uther did his mother's, I will be glad to step outside the walls with you. I have listened to your sneers and insults long enough. I find you boorish, bullying, envious and not in the least amiable. Our doctors will soon heal your sewer- tongued son. When they have done so, I'll show you the gates myself. You are not welcome here, neither you nor your son. Is that clearly spoken? Do you understand me? Do you doubt my words?"
Through all of this, Duke Emrys sat purple-faced, gaping at my father. In the silence that followed, I watched him as I would an insect. I knew without doubt that he would not accept my father's challenge, but I wondered what he would do. My eyes never left his. I saw him fight to hide fear and then struggle to draw what dignity he had to aid him. Finally he turned to my uncle and tried to speak disdainfully. "I thought you were the master here. Is this a sample of your mastery? Allowing your guests to be maltreated at your board?"
My uncle heaved a deep sigh. "Too late, Emrys. You forget that the lady impugned, Uther's mother, was my daughter. Besides, I am the senior here, not the master. We have no need of such distinctions. Picus has said what I myself should say, were I not your host. Now that it has been said, I find that I cannot, in conscience, disagree with it. You may leave any time you wish. Please do not come back." He stood up and left the table and my father walked with him.
He beckoned to me in passing and we left Emrys alone in the Armoury.
Lot's wound healed quickly. It was not deep and had touched nothing vital. He and his father were gone within four days. Uther limped for a month. And the enmity created on that day lived on for years and blighted a thousand lives.
VII
I was enjoying a meal of cold sausage, cheese, bread and home-brewed beer when I heard my name being shouted in the street outside. The woman of the house looked at me curiously as a fist hammered on the door. I nodded to her and she opened it to admit one of my squad leaders who stepped into the room and snapped to attention as he saw me sitting at the table.
"Commander Caius, sir, I thought you'd be asleep."
"I was, but now I'm eating, as you see. What is it?"
The man's eyes were wide with the portent of his message as he snapped out, "Courier, sir, from Camulod. You are to return at once. The Lord Varrus lies dying."
I was on my feet before he finished, my chair clattering over backwards. "Where's Commander Uther?"
He shrugged, his eyes admitting that he had already tried to find that out. "Nobody seems to know, sir."
"Damn the man! He's never—" I cut myself short, regretting the words as I allowed them to slip out. "Send out some men to search the wine shops. He's off duty. Find him, and quickly!"
"Yes, Commander." He saluted and withdrew and I righted my chair and sat down again, all thought of food forgotten.
Publius Varrus was a constant in my life. The thought of his being ill was alien to me and yet, if he were ill enough to cause our recall, he must really be close to death. I tried to think of how old he was, but I had no real idea. Uncle Varrus was ageless. Other men grew old, but not he. The only time I had seen him ailing was when Ullic and Equus and Bishop Alaric had all died close together. But the joy of showing me Excalibur had brought him back to health, back to himself, back to living again. And now he was sick.