"No! That's not true." There was urgency in his voice and he shook his head tersely. "You are at peace with my people, but not with all my countrymen. We have many kings on our island and few of them are friends. The fact that you hold me as hostage will mean nothing to the other kings. They have no love for me or for my people. They war with us as much as they do with Britain."
"Hmm!" I gnawed at my lower lip as though this had not occurred to me. "That could be awkward. How will we know that any future raiders are not of your people?"
The young man held his head high. "My father's standard is a black galley set on a field of gold. All of our ships carry it. My people will stay clear of you and your lands."
"Good." I nodded to him. "I believe you. But we have lost our track. Would you be willing to consider taking part in some way in the life of Camulod?"
He looked me in the eye. "Aye, Caius Merlyn, but there is a problem."
"What is that?"
"I do not have your Roman-British tongue. You are the only man I've met so far that I can talk to."
"Then you will have to work with me, somehow, until you learn our language. Will that gall you?" His face broke out slowly, but not reluctantly, into a smile.
"No, I think not."
"Good, then there is no problem. How old are you?"
"Seventeen. Almost eighteen."
I whistled my surprise. "You're a big lad for your age. Think about this. Consider what you might do that you can see as being of help to me and we will talk again tomorrow." As I said this, my door burst open and my father strode into the room, his face like thunder. He stopped short when he saw that I had company and looked from Donuil to me, making no sign of greeting to either one of us.
"Caius. When you are free, come to my quarters." He left as suddenly as he had come, closing the door behind him and I wondered what had upset him so. As soon as he had gone I turned back to my prisoner.
"So be it. Think on what I have said until tomorrow. In the meantime, I will have Legate Titus assign you to a room of your own. As of this moment, you are free to move about the fort, but be careful. Remember your own point about the language problem. In fact, it might be better not to wander off on your own until I have had time to show you around. I will do that tomorrow, too. Now I have to go and meet with my father and find out what has upset him. Come with me.
I'll take you to Titus on the way and have him fix you up." I stepped to the door and held it open, and as he passed in front of me to leave, I stopped him with my free hand on his arm. "Welcome to Camulod," I told him, smiling. "I think you may like it here, once you get used to it." I offered him my hand and saw no reluctance in his face as he shook it.
XVI
It took me almost half an hour to find Titus and instruct him on what I wanted him to do with Donuil, so that as I approached my father's office I found myself thinking that he would, by this time, have had a chance to simmer down and be more objective about whatever it had been that infuriated him. I was wrong. He was still black-faced and grim.
"Where have you been?" he snapped as I stepped across his threshold. I blinked at him in surprise.
"Pardon me. I have been making arrangements for the suitable quartering of my prisoner."
"What quartering? He should be in a cell. We have more to be concerned with than the comfort of an alien raider."
I decided not to pursue that one. "What's the matter, Father? I've never seen you so upset."
"Upset? I am not upset! I am disturbed and uneasy and running short of patience with fools, but I am not upset!"
"Oh! Very well, then, what's worrying and disturbing you?" I had not bothered to close the door behind me as I entered, mainly because his temper had taken me so much by surprise. Normally the most imperturbable of men, my father was by nature cool and judicious, although in his infrequent fits of anger he could be implacable. He walked past me and closed the door himself. I turned to watch him as he did so, noting the effort he made to calm himself before turning back to me.
"Sit down, Caius. This has nothing to do with you. I need your advice. You are far more equable than I am in these matters." I felt my eyebrows rising. What, in God's name, could have affected him this way? I was glad to know it had nothing to do with me, for that left Cassandra free of his anger, too, and I felt a surge of relief. I sat down and watched him cross back in front of me to stand behind his big, wooden armchair. He leaned forward slightly and gripped the arms with his hands. "Priests!" he said, almost spitting the word out. "Tell me about priests, Caius."
I was bemused.. "What can I tell you, Father? I know almost nothing about them. They live to preach the word of God to men."
"Yes, but what are they? What kind of beings?"
"What do you mean, beings, Father? They are priests! Men!"
He cut me off abruptly, with a hard slash of the edge of his hand. "No! No, Caius, that will not do. I will not accept that. They are not men. Not as you and I think of men. That crippled bastard Remus—the one you were unable to find after the affair of the beaten girl—was he a man? I think not!"
By this time I was totally mystified, and I held up my hands with what I hoped was a disarming smile on my face. "Whoa, Father, you're not making sense. I have no idea what you're talking about. Please! Start at the beginning and tell me what's been going on that I have been so ignorant of."
He moved around and sat in his chair, where he scrubbed his face with the palms of his hands as though washing it. That done, he blinked hugely, stretching the skin around his eyes as though struggling to remain awake. "You're right, Caius, you're right, I'm being irrational. Forgive me. This thing sprang out on me full grown. I should have been aware of it much sooner, but I chose to ignore the signals."
I waited, leaving him to collect his thoughts, and eventually his agitated features began to relax and a contemplative look came into his eyes. And still I waited, although it was becoming clear that he was immersed in his thoughts so deeply that he had momentarily forgotten I was there. Eventually, I cleared my throat quietly and spoke. "The priests, Father?"
"What? Oh yes, the priests. They deal in power, Cay. They deal in power."
"Of course they do," I agreed. "The power of God."
He threw me a glance filled with what was almost pity. "God has little to do with it, Caius. Power is power. It exists of and for itself. And the power to sway men's minds is the greatest and most lethal power of all. Why do you think these people exist at all?" I shook my head slightly and he went on. "You don't know? Let me ask another question, then. When did you last meet someone who had spoken directly with God? Not to Him, but with Him?"
"Never." I heard the incredulity in my own voice.
"Why not?"
"Because God doesn't speak to men directly."
My father slammed his clenched fist on the table in triumph. "That's right, Caius! Never directly! Only through priests. And whether the god is called Baal or Moloch or Jupiter or Helios, he has his priests to make clear his will to men. We may be talking of false gods and false priests, but there has never been a god without priests. The priests accept the sacrifices on the god's behalf, and they shape the minds of worshippers the way they wish them to be shaped. I've never really been aware of it before, but I always think of priests with their hands out, either demanding sacrifice or pointing in accusation."