Camulod Chronicles Book 8 - Clothar the Frank (43 page)

Astonishingly, Ban had then, and thus publicly, rescinded his acknowledgment of his firstborn son, Gunthar, as his legal heir and follower, denying him the right to claim the crown of Benwick. His second son, the twenty-three-year-old Samson, Ban had declared in front of everyone assembled, would be his heir henceforth and would assume the crown on Ban's death. It was a momentous announcement and apparently a spontaneous one, in the eyes of those who were present for the occasion, notwithstanding the King's claim that he had been considering it for years, believing he yet had years ahead of him to resolve such matters.

My own belief is that the King's claim, disregarded and generally discounted as it was, was no less than the truth. I knew from comments made by Samson and Brach that Ban had been having serious misgivings for years about Gunthar's fitness to succeed him, but I also accepted that Ban truly had believed there was no shortage of time ahead of him and that he was under no urgency to make such a grave decision. As soon as his circumstances changed, however, Ban the King, who had always been a pragmatist adapting constantly to the real world in which he lived and ruled, made a final and irrevocable decision and announced it bluntly, in the presence of witnesses.

So now my cousin Samson would be king of Benwick. And my cousin Gunthar would not. And wrack, ruin and chaos lay between those two statements.

In the meantime, however, King Ban grew increasingly drowsy and more weakened from day to day, sleeping for longer and longer periods until eventually, four days after his fateful pronouncement, he slipped backwards into a deep slumber from which he was never to awaken.

He asked for me, however, on the day following my arrival while he was yet in fair condition, given the serious nature of his injuries, and when I went into his presence he knew me immediately and made me feel very welcome. He was lying strangely, propped up carefully and off-center on a mountain of soft skins because of the seriousness of his wound, and he still had that curious protective construction about his chest and shoulder. His face was gaunt and haggard, deeply lined and gray with pain, and his voice was whispery, his breathing shallow and careful.

Nevertheless, despite all his discomfort and my own discomfiture, he made it possible for me to gain great pleasure from his company. According me the status of manhood by speaking to me as an equal, he asked me all about my school and my various tutors, all of whom he knew by name thanks to the dutiful correspondence of the bishop's chief scribe and secretary, Ludovic. He asked me, too, about his old friend Germanus, but I had the distinct feeling— why, I could not have explained—that he already knew more about the bishop and his affairs than I could tell him. Then, too, he praised me for my prowess in arms and asked me about the adventures I had shared with Ursus on our way here, eliciting the information from me, almost without my volition, that I had killed my first enemies along the way.

I was aware of Sakander the surgeon sitting at the rear of the tent throughout all this, but the man never stirred and offered no interruption at any time. He merely sat watching, alert to the condition of his charge.

Finally, and in a papery whisper, speaking words that I have never forgotten, King Ban commended me to my duty above all things else and bade me hold myself true to God, Who, he assured me, had great things in store for me and would demand great things of me in return. I must return to Auxerre, he told me, and made me swear that I would permit nothing to deter me from so doing. I swore the oath at his request, but even as I did so it was halfhearted, diluted by a reluctance that was born of a silent, sneaking belief that the King was not altogether strong in mind. In all the years that I had known him I had never heard him talk so fervently about God and God's expectations of real, living people. Truth to tell, I had never heard him speak of God at all, under any circumstances, and had not even believed him to be a Christian. That he should so evidently and avidly be instructing me now concerning my Christian duty and obligations was, I feared, an indication of just how weakened he had become.

He saw my reluctance, and reacted strongly to it, stiffening his voice and speaking with more authority. Unable to move from where he lay, he nevertheless gave me to understand that he wanted to stand up more than anything else, to stand beside me with his hand upon my shoulder as I swore the oath. He bade me be quiet then and to summon the guard outside his tent, and then he sent the man to fetch the bishop who was chaplain to the Christian troopers. We continued talking then of other things until the bishop entered, some time later, and then the King asked him for the pectoral Cross that hung about his neck. He handed the ornate Cross to me and asked the bishop to wait outside the tent. When we were alone again, ignoring the surgeon at the rear of the tent as he seemed to ignore us. Ban repeated what he had said to me about God's expectations for me, and this time, strange as it might seem, I believed him absolutely, so that I swore the oath with passion and conviction, promising solemnly that I would return to Germanus in Auxerre within the year and that I would permit nothing to hinder me or dissuade me.

This time, when I had finished, the King rewarded me with a contented smile and asked me to return the bishop's Cross. I did so, and this time saw Samson waiting patiently outside the tent, gazing off into the distance, his long arms wrapped about his chest. I mentioned this to the King, and he asked me to summon his son.

When Samson came in, the King beckoned to him to bend close, and whispered something into his ear. Samson went away frowning and returned with a powerful, magnificently made bow and a large, heavy quiver filled with arrows, which he stood holding at the foot of the bed. Ban nodded. "Give them to Clothar."

Deeply astonished, I took them from Samson's outstretched hands, then turned to the King. "Lord," I asked him, "what am I to do with these?"

He smiled, and when he spoke his voice reminded me of the rustle of dead leaves stirred by the wind. "Do with them what you will, Clothar. They are yours. They have been the death of me, but they are wondrous fine and should go to someone who will use them well."

I went rigid, realizing only then that these were the weapons that had struck him down— I saw the bright yellow fletching of the arrows and was stunned that I had not recognized them instantly. The large quiver was heavily packed, filled with at least two score of the bright, yellow-feathered war arrows.

"No," the King said sharply, waving his sound hand slightly but sufficiently to stop me and dispel what I was thinking. "No, don't throw them down. They are superb weapons. Learn how to use them, Clothar, and remember when you do that they arc merely tools for your direction and use. They had no will to harm me when they brought me down. That came from the man who used them. His was the urge to kill. Treat these with the respect they deserve, as powerful, well-crafted weapons, and they will serve you well, my son.

"Now kiss me and go with God, and I will pass your love and kindness to your father and mother when next we meet. But bear in mind your promise at all times from this day on: within the year, you must return to Auxerre and to Germanus."

His voice was very weak by then, and Samson's face was stretched tight with concern. I looked from one to the other of them, and then to Sakander, who sat gazing at me, his face still empty of expression. The surgeon nodded to me, as though granting me permission, and I stooped and kissed King Ban of Benwick for the last time.

6

Early on the morning of the day of the King's funeral, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I emerged from my tent to find Samson deep in thought directly ahead of me, staring off into the misty distance and completely unaware of what was going on about him. It was a chilly morning, overcast and damp, and anyone could see it would turn into a nasty, rainy day once the lowering clouds had finished massing overhead and decided to purge themselves of their burden of moisture. I greeted him and asked him what was wrong, and he half turned towards me, surprised to find me there so close to him. I asked him again why he looked so glum, and this time he said, "Beddoc," then turned his head away again.

Beddoc, I knew, was one of his lieutenants, a clan chief who led nigh on a hundred warriors raised from his own holdings not far from Genava. I had met him on several occasions and found him difficult to warm to. He was a naturally dour man—a single glance at his dark, humorless face was all it look to see that—hut he was enormous, too, and the sheer sullen bulk of him, draped in drab armour and faded furs, emphasized the air of unfriendliness and inaccessibility that surrounded him.

"What about him?" I asked, when it became plain Samson was going to say no more.

"He's gone. Last night sometime, during the third watch. Left without anyone knowing why or where he was headed."

"He must have told some of his men where he was going."

"No, his men went with him."

"All of them? That's impossible. How could a hundred men break camp and sneak away without being seen? The guards must have seen them."

"They did, but all the guards on that watch last night were his men. He took them with him, too. Left the camp unguarded for the duration of the watch. Sellus, captain of the fourth watch, discovered they were gone when he rolled out to rouse his men."

I did not know how to respond to this because I had never heard of such a thing. A hundred men vanished in the night from a camp site with no one else noticing simply defied credence. I was so amazed by what he had told me that I completely missed the real significance of the event. "Surely someone must have seen something," I protested.

"Aye, we think someone did. A man called Castor, from among my own troops, another called Gilles, one of Chulderic's men, and some young fellow who worked with the commissary people. All three were found dead by their fires, wrapped in their blankets with their throats cut. We think they must have been awakened by the stir, and killed as soon as they were noticed."

My mind tried to process this incomprehensible development. Finally I found my tongue and heard my own question emerge as a bleat. "But why, Samson? To what end?"

My cousin glanced at me and then began to walk, quickly, beckoning me to follow him. "To what end? What about self-interest, will that serve as an end? Beddoc is ostensibly one of my lieutenants, but that is purely nominal and born of political necessity. The truth is that he is one of Gunthar's four closest henchmen. Always has been, since they were boys. I've been watching him ever since my father made his announcement deposing Gunthar as his heir and naming me in his stead, and you may be sure I've been watching very closely. Had Gunthar become king in Benwick, Beddoc would have become perhaps his strongest lieutenant and supporter, secure in one of the king's fortresses as a reward for ongoing loyalty and support. That's what he sees in his own mind, and that's what he seeks to protect now."

"By deserting, you mean? How so?"

"How not? He is scampering to warn my brother Gunthar of what has happened, and the knowledge is making me sick. I should have
known
he would do that. The gods all know I've known him long enough! I should have anticipated his reaction and posted guards discreetly to watch his every move. The King's decree formally making me his heir was public enough to stand as law, but no one at home will know of it yet. As soon as the King was wounded, and never anticipating any of what was to transpire on this matter of the succession, I sent off a messenger to bear the tidings home, but Gunthar knew nothing of the King's decree thereafter. When Beddoc reaches him with his news, my brother will simply announce the King's death and assume the kingship, and once the crown is on his head, validly or otherwise, it will require the strength of Jupiter himself to take it back from him. Gunthar is no weakling and he has no fear. My brother will not be governed by the normal, civil rules that should apply in such a case. 'Honour thy lather' has little appeal to one such as Gunthar when the honoring involves abandoning a claim to kingship. He lacks only sufficient strength to back his will. Beddoc has much to gain by warning him and pledging all his men to bolster Gunthar's strength. And understand me clearly, Gunthar will need all the strength he can muster if he is going to try to withstand me and defy the King's wishes."

"What of your other brothers?"

"Theuderic and Brach will stand with me. Gunthar has never done anything to endear himself to cither one of them. Nor would he be willing to share any part of what he thinks to gain with either one."

"And the Lady Vivienne?"

"What think you, that Mother would go against her husband's wishes after all these years?"

"No."

"No, indeed. I suspect that my father's decision, long-postponed as it was, sprang from my mother's doubts. The King was always something blind to Gunthar's faults. Mind you, Gunthar leaned backwards close to the falling point to disguise those faults from Father's awareness; it was the rest of us who had to bear the brunt of them. But still, even when he came face to face with the worst of them, our father would always seek and find some reason to explain why this and that were so extreme and why Gunthar might claim provocation in the face of circumstance. It was tedious for the rest of us, but we soon learned to live with it. Mother, however, could always see through Gunthar and was unimpressed by the King's excuses. And as Gunthar grew older, she grew increasingly less pleased with how he was—how he
is."

"So you are saying your mother influenced your father?"

Samson laughed, a single, booming bark that held no trace of humor. "Influenced him? Aye, completely! In everything he ever did. Of course she influenced him. How could she fail to? Mother is nothing if not direct, and we all know she is the strongest person in our lives. But in this particular instance, concerning Gunthar and his fitness to be king, aye, she has worked for years to change his mind."

"And you believe she was right to do so?"