In the days that followed, I found myself in Cuthric's company frequently, for he was always close to Germanus, the two of them prattling away in whatever tongue it was they spoke together, although I must admit, injustice, that they never failed to abandon whatever they were discussing when I appeared, after which Germanus and I would speak in Latin while he translated for Cuthric's benefit.
I had two of the most important conversations of my life within the week that followed Cuthric's arrival, one of them carefully planned and much thought over in advance, the other purely spontaneous, and it has galled me for years that the second of them did not occur until that week was almost over. Had it occurred sooner, on the other hand, the first conversation, undoubtedly the more important of the; two, would never have taken place at all.
I had expected to be able to spend some time alone with Germanus within the first few days of meeting him, but that; was not to be. There was an endless traffic of clerics along our route, finding us as if by magic, no matter which way ; our path might wend. Those messengers, each of whom; brought tidings of great or lesser gravity to the bishop's; attention, demanded all of his time for the first period of days, the meetings sometimes lasting well into the night. Germanus told me that as he grew older he found less and less need for sleep, and after hearing the talk among our troopers, who often passed the time with him on the predawn watch, I believed him. Yet he was never out of scats or sleepy looking when the new day dawned. Instead he was up and about, bright eyed and cheerful, feeding himself and climbing into the stirrups like a much younger man.
A few days after we had settled back onto our northward route, on a late evening after the watch fires had burned past their first height, he called to me as I was passing by his tent on my way to my own, after a cursory patrol of our perimeter. I stuck my head in through the flaps and found him sitting at the folding table, talking with two of his bishops. He looked up with a smile.
"Do you think you could conjure a flask of mead tonight, my friend? We have almost finished here, and I am aware that I have spent no time with you since dragging you out here to meet with me. I know we both have much to discuss with each other. "
I nodded to the other two bishops, then grinned at him. "Aye, I can find a flask or two, but what about food? Have you eaten today? No matter, I'll bring some bread and fresh broiled meat, and we'll eat here. When should I come?"
Germanus looked at the other two and both men shrugged their shoulders and professed themselves well satisfied with what they had achieved.
"How quickly can you find the victuals?"
"Stay there, I'll be back directly. "
I returned a short time later with two flasks of Shelagh's own mead, drawn from the enormous keg she had insisted on transporting with us in the commissary wagons. I crossed to the table and set the flasks down safely, then pulled two horn cups from my scrip before unhooking the long sword that hung in its sheath between my shoulder blades. I had forgotten I was wearing it. Now I placed it carefully in a corner of the tent, propping it in the angle of the leather walls. "The food will be here shortly," I said over my shoulder.
I filled both cups and handed one to him, and we had barely raised them to our lips when three troopers came to the entrance of his tent, one carrying another folding table and the others each bearing an enormous wooden platter; one contained a mound of thick sliced, succulent wild boar and a large jug of dark, red wine, and the other two loaves of fresh, crusty bread, a dish of boiled greens still steaming from the pot, a jar of olive oil and another of olives pickled in brine. Germanus marked my amazement and smiled, gesturing towards the delicacies and the wine jug. "I brought them for you, as a gift," he said. "I remember how much you enjoyed these olives in Verulamium, and how you said you had not seen or tasted their like in years."
"Nor have I seen them since," I said, with reverence in my voice.
His smile grew wider. "The wine is from our own vineyards in Gaul. I had my brethren deliver these things to your quartermaster, knowing he would hold them in trust for you. He evidently decided to broach the supplies tonight. We can but hope he did so in secrecy, for I brought merely enough for your own enjoyment."
We ate like kings that evening, enjoying the lack of urgency and the pleasure of renewing our friendship. We spoke of many things throughout the lengthy meal, and most of them were inconsequential, although we discussed the Cambrian campaign against Ironhair and Carthac and spoke at even greater length about the growth of the communities around Camulod and the resurgence of hope that was occurring there. By the end of the meal, when the last of the brine pickled olives had been consumed and the few remaining drops of olive oil had been mopped up on soft, rich bread, little remained of the wild pig meat and even less of the full, rich, heavy wine.
Germanus slumped lower in his chair and belched delicately, covering his mouth with one hand. "You cannot know how good it feels, my friend, to eat to satiation for once. I seldom take the time to eat an entire meal nowadays, and when I do, it is rarely that I eat this well. Show me that sword of yours, will you?"
I rose and collected the sword from where it leaned in the corner, unsheathing it carefully before offering it to him hilt first. He held it straight armed, horizontally in front of him, with greater ease than I would have thought possible, considering his age. He squinted along the blade to test its straightness, then tested the edge with the ball of his thumb, producing a hair thin line of blood. "I barely touched the thing, " he whispered.
"Aye, it's a sharp one. " .
"Miraculously so, some men might say. " He was still peering closely at the weapon, now touching its broad cross guard with the fingers of his left hand. "I have never seen its match. Where did you find it? May I ask you that?"
"Aye, you may. Our master smith made it, in Camulod. "
"Ah, but whence came the iron? It seems... different, somehow. "
"It is. It's skystone metal. " I saw from his face that he had no notion what I meant, and it might have been the excellent wine that prompted me, but I suddenly found myself telling him the story of Publius Varrus and his skystone. I tried to keep it brief, and I omitted any mention of Excalibur, but it is not a tale that lends itself to brevity, and by the time I had finished, it was growing dark within the tent He sat silent, his eyes gleaming in the heavy shadows as he thought of what I had told him.
As I looked around the tent I saw the glimmer of a tiny, solitary votive candle in the farthest corner. "The light of learning," I murmured.
"What?"
"It's dark in here, quite suddenly, and I was recalling that you used to burn fine candles in profusion late at night."
"I still do, though not as profligately as I recall you did. Here, let's light some."
He pulled himself out of his chair and gave me back my sword, then crossed to where a makeshift curtain hung against one wall of the tent and pulled it back to reveal a long, low table ranked with candelabra. He then lit a taper from the single votive lamp and went about lighting the larger candles, almost a score of them, turning the tent's interior into a fantastical array of soft, yellow, dancing light. I sat and watched him, aware that the effects of his fine wine had worn off in the telling of my tale, and remembering that the mead I had poured for both of us hours earlier still sat upon the small table, virtually untouched. I rose and fetched the cups, handing his to him as he settled down again.
"So," he began immediately, "the statue that your uncle made sat unused for years before you thought of turning it into swords. What prompted you to try that?"