'To what end?"
'To an end of hostility, I should think. We have much in common."
He pursed his lips and his eyes flicked from me to the appointments of the tent in which we sat. It was high and roomy and four cornered, six paces long on each side with a twin peaked roof supported by poles and guy ropes, and it was made from score upon score of uniform panels of soft leather, assiduously stitched together with strong, waxed twine so as to be both waterproof and windproof. It could hold a score of people in comfort and was military in every respect, clearly a command point for a mobile expedition. To his credit, my guest made no comment on any of that, unwilling, I assumed, to volunteer any information even by comparing what we had to what he might not have. Instead, he confined himself to responding to what I had already said.
"Our names are both Roman, but the Romans are long departed. Beyond that, I can find little in common between us."
"Well then," I offered, "let me make a suggestion. We are both of Roman descent, as you say, and we live here in Britain. That means we both have learned to live in amity with the Celts here. And that sets us both squarely against the newcomers who have been swarming over Britain since the armies left."
He sat without moving for several moments more, then sniffed. "The newcomers. You mean the Picti, the Painted People from beyond the Wall in the north?"
"Aye, in part, although I doubt they come this far south in any organized manner. But I also mean the Danes and the Saxons."
"We have had no trouble from either of those. We have heard of them, of course, the Saxons at least, but they are only names, nightmare names with which to frighten children."
I shrugged. "Nightmare names, perhaps, but you have been singularly fortunate if you have lived this long without ever meeting any of them. Only a few years ago, not far south of here, in Glevum, we encountered Berbers from the Central Sea. Corsairs, raiding here in a massive Roman bireme. They were stripping the marble from the public buildings in the town there, presumably to sell it beyond the seas, and they'll be back. When they've stripped everything of value from the towns close by the coast, they'll venture further inland. The Saxons and the Danes, for the time being, are content to remain in the eastern parts of the country, but they won't stay there forever, not when there is rich land to be had here in the west. You gull yourself if you believe you'll never meet them."
Appius Niger sipped again at his mead, giving every indication of appreciating its excellence, then looked me in the eye and nodded slightly. "I've no doubt you're right. But our main difficulty until now has lain in dealing with wanderers, people from other parts of the country who range abroad looking to relieve people like me of crops and livestock." He paused, then added, "People like you."
"No." My denial was instantaneous but not defensive. "You've had, and you will have, no difficulty with us." I kept right on, ignoring his attempt to interrupt with some caustic comment about having been abducted. I did not raise my voice but merely kept speaking over his objections. "We have no interest in your lands or in your crops, other than to take note of their existence, since we had not expected to find their like near here. Our scouting party was withdrawing when it encountered you, and having seen you and the style of your armour, the commander decided to bring you back with him, to me."
"And you are Caius Britannicus. Should I be impressed?"
His effrontery amused me. I found myself liking him, despite his attitude. "No," I replied. "But I'm also known as Merlyn, of Camulod."
The change that came into his face was immediate, but I could not define it. He sat up straighter, however, and I sensed a sharp, sudden tension in him. My immediate thought was that he had reacted like a woodland stag, alert by nature and suddenly attuned to danger. Yet when he spoke, there was nothing of this in his words.
"Now there's a name I've heard," he drawled, his voice and face devoid of all expression.
"Well, now you have a face to put with it. What have you heard of me?"
"That you serve excellent mead." He emptied his cup and held it out to me. "More, if I may."
When I had finished pouring and replaced the flask a second time, I stood by the table that held the chest and looked down at him. "What else?"
He tilted his head, appearing more at ease by the moment. "That you have a fabulous kingdom, far to the south, with an invincible army, supplied by the Empire." That made me laugh. "Don't tell me you're denying it!" he continued. "You and your men are wearing the evidence that proves it."
That sobered me, and I placed my cup quickly on the table before stepping closer to him.
"I can't believe you might be stupid enough to believe such twaddle, Niger. The Romans have been gone for generations now, and they will not be coming back."
He blinked at me, keeping his face expressionless, but made no effort to reply. For long moments I hovered there, standing over him, before I stepped away, took up my drink again and lowered myself into a chair. Then I told him about Camulod. I told him we wore the Roman armour because of its superiority and because the legacy of our founding craftsmen, Publius Varrus first among them, enabled us to make it still. I went on to tell him of my grandfather, Caius Britannicus, and his dream of founding a defensible community that could survive the departure of the legions, and finally I outlined the role played by my father, Picus, in building our near invincible cavalry.
"You've seen my men, and their horses," I concluded. "We are no more than a small patrol, an exploratory force. I promise you the world has seen nothing like the cavalry of Camulod since the days of Alexander of Macedon, the man they called Alexander the Great because he used cavalry to conquer the world."
Appius was listening intently, his face rapt, and I drove onward.
"Now I command the army of Camulod jointly with my brother, Ambrose. The cavalry is mine, by and large. The infantry is his, equally so. The Colony, however, is governed by a Council of Elders. It is a fine place to live. We have no slaves, no poverty and no deprivation. We are self sufficient in food and in other resources, and we are strong enough to withstand danger from outside—at least, we have been until now." I paused, for a space of three heartbeats, then continued. "Now, what have you to tell me of yourself?"
Once again, my question was met with blank faced silence, but my patience was at an end.
"Appius Nigra, think of what I have said. If my people and I were hungry for conquest, we should already be making plans to conquer you and lay your possessions waste. You were the one who spoke of our 'Roman' army. Believe me when I say it is substantial. Nothing would be easier for us than to return to Camulod—which, incidentally, is a mere four day journey from here—and then ride back at the head of a force that would obliterate whatever you might rally to meet us. We would find you—you cannot hide a settlement any more than you can hide fields. So be sensible. Believe me when I tell you that we have no plans to conquer or enslave you or to steal from you. Then be even more sensible and ask me what I have in mind for you."
He started to drink again, but his hand stopped before it reached his mouth, and then he slowly reached down and placed the cup on the floor by his feet, looking carefully to see that he did not spill it. Finally he looked back at me, and again, knowing how his thoughts must have been racing throughout all this, I had to admire his self possession.
"Very well, then, what do you have in mind for me?"
"I know you have a community, simply because of the number and richness of your fields, and I know, by the same logic, that it must be a strong one... reasonably so, at any rate. I think I might be able to advise you on how to strengthen it further. I'm no magician, but logic, applied judiciously, can perform seemingly magical things, and I pride myself on being logical."