"And?" I finally had to ask him. "Did they agree?"
For a long time I thought he wasn't going to answer me at all, but then he shrugged and sighed deeply. "Aye, they agreed."
"Why, that's marvellous," I said, full of enthusiasm.
My father looked at me with a strange expression, part pity, part impatience. "Is it now? And what happens tomorrow, or next year, or the year after that, when the Saxons he has invited to live with him want to go home and bring back their wives and children and brothers and families? And what happens when all their friends and families come here and there isn't enough land for them to farm?"
I blinked. "They'll clear more land and farm that."
"Aye, Caius, that they will. And they'll need more and more as their numbers grow, and one day they will decide that there isn't room for Vortigern and his people there any longer, because by that time it will be their land, and they'll throw Vortigern and his descendants out, alive if they're lucky." His voice had been rising as he spoke and now he paused and gathered his patience again, lowering his tone. "Vortigern is playing a suicidal game, Caius. He is not merely welcoming strangers to his lands. He is allowing uncontested entry to an alien race, an alien culture, an uncivilized and savage people who are intrinsically inimical to Vortigern's traditions and way of life. He will lose everything, sooner or later. It's inevitable." He paused. "Inevitable. You do see that, don't you?"
I nodded. "Yes, Father, I do, now that you explain it so graphically. But I can't see how it affects my own decision regarding this young Celtic chieftain. I am not inviting him to come here and farm my land. I can't find it in me to think that I have made the wrong decision."
My father squeezed his face between his palms and rose to his feet, his decision made. "Very well, Caius. You are my son and a soldier. More than that, you are your own man, with the right to make your own judgments. I have my doubts, but I will not say I told you so if you are wrong. I'll only hope you learn from your mistake—if you have indeed made one. How do you intend to proceed now?"
I tried hard not to allow my relief to show in any way, but got to my feet as casually as I could and replaced my helmet on my head. My father could still make me feel like a small boy. "I will have Donuil speak to your prisoners and explain the situation to them. I expect no trouble, since they have no choice. They are barbarian, but I think they do not lack honour. I will escort all of them back to the coast and send them home. Then we'll return to Camulod. We should be no more than three days behind you."
"How many are we freeing altogether?"
"Six hundred here, five hundred at the coast, guarding their ships."
"Eleven hundred men..." He shook his head again. "I hope you have the right of it, Caius, for if you are wrong they will eat you alive."
"I know that, Father. I believe I'm right."
He nodded. "Well, don't be longer than three days behind me or I'll pronounce you dead."
I smiled. "No need of that, Commander. By the way, what were our losses on the road?"
"Less than a hundred," he said, looking around him. "We lost one for ten. Not a bad exchange, under the circumstances."
"No," I said. "I suppose not."
He glanced at me, sharp-eyed. "What's the matter?"
"Oh, nothing. This is my first major battle, in terms of the numbers of men involved. I suppose I'm still trying to adjust to the thought of eleven or twelve hundred lives being snuffed out like lamps within the space of an hour. Eleven hundred. That's a lot of corpses. They'll breed a lot of maggots."
He frowned slightly. "It's half as many as it would have been without your bargain! But you're right. That road will be unpleasant to travel for the next few months. I don't think, however, that you have lost sight of what would have happened at Camulod had we let them get through this valley unscathed."
I nodded agreement. "It had to be done, I'm aware of that, but it doesn't make it any the less sickening." I put my foot into the stirrup and swung myself up onto my horse. "As long as people like the Scotii and the Picts, and the Saxons for that matter, see us as weak, helpless victims in a leaderless land, this kind of carnage will go on. But it galls me that Lot of Cornwall should stoop so low as to bring in invaders to help him."
My father cleared his throat derisively and I marvelled again, for the first time; in ages, at how clear his speaking voice had become. "Well, my son, I can guarantee you that Lot would not describe himself as stooping low to achieve his ends. That one is aiming high. He seeks dominion. Lot of Cornwall sees himself as High King of Britain, I fear." He mounted his own horse.
"High King of Britain? Lot of Cornwall? You jest, surely, Father?"
But there was no humour in my father's grim face. He grunted and spat, clearing his mouth before he spoke again. "No, by the ancient gods, I mean it. I have ill reports of him. He looks to conquer all of us."
"Then his ambition will kill him, for he has to reckon with Uther, myself and you, and he's not man enough for any of us. I wonder how Uther is faring right now?"
My father hitched around in his saddle, peering backward to where his army awaited him. "We'll find out soon enough," he said, abstractedly. "Go you and see your prisoners out to sea. And don't take too long about it. We'll be waiting for you in Camulod."
XIV
In the event, we were no more than one day behind my father in reaching Camulod. I took Prince Donuil to meet his surviving men immediately upon leaving my father, and the joy with which they greeted the young man was worth beholding. He explained to them the terms under which he had bought their lives and extracted a pledge from all of them to honour his commitment. There was little argument.
The next day we reached the coast where they had beached their fleet. Seven hundred Scotii, as it turned out, escorted by my four hundred mounted men. Donuil himself went forward to speak to the guards he had left behind and I allowed him to do so without an escort. He was gone for more than an hour and returned with a grizzled veteran almost as big as he himself. When they came in sight of us they stopped and I rode out to meet them. The big man with Donuil was the first to speak.
"My nephew here has told me of the terms he has reached with you, Merlyn Britannicus, and I have no choice but to abide by his terms and yours." He stopped and I waited for him to continue, which he did after clearing his throat and spitting. "Understand that had we known we were facing Romans, we would have behaved very differently!"
I could not let him get away with that, for his bearing implied that by behaving differently they could have beaten us. "What does that mean? You lost more than a thousand men. You marched into an alien land without sending out scouts. You are lucky to be still alive, and luckier still to be sailing home with your weapons and your honour intact."
The big man flushed. "I know that. I had no thought of demeaning you. What I meant was that we were marching to join King Lot. By his tale your people are nought but a nest of bandits who threaten die existence of his kingdom. He told us that you are a rabble."
I grunted. "Well, if rabble we are, we are a well-disciplined rabble."
"Aye, and a strangely honourable one. I am Fergus, brother to King Athol and uncle to Donuil. My nephew has told me of your behaviour and of your treatment of him. I will take back your conditions to my brother Athol, and I am here to swear my solemn pledge that you will hear no more of us for five years from this date." I nodded my head, accepting his pledge, and he went on, "At that time, five years from now, we will return to this spot to claim our prince. If he is well and alive, we will take him and leave."