"Hey!" I said from the doorway. "Are you going to lie there for the next five years?" He sat up and blinked at me.
"What was the name of the soldier you found who speaks your heathen language?"
"Rufio."
"Big, burly man with a bright red beard?"
"Yes, Commander."
"I know him. Good! Let's go and find him." I had a centurion find him for me and order him to my quarters, where Donuil and I were waiting for him. He turned up a short time later, looking apprehensive and doubtless worrying over which of his misdemeanours I could have discovered. When he saw Donuil standing beside me, his apprehension deepened.
"You sent for me, Commander?"
"Yes, Trooper Rufio. I understand you speak our guest's language?"
He swallowed. "Yes, Commander."
"Good thing, since he doesn't speak ours. I'm putting you under special orders from this time on. Who's your centurion?"
"Phideas, Commander. 'C' Squadron."
"Phideas. That's right. He had you up in front of me on charges not too long ago. Brawling, wasn't it?"
"Yes, Commander."
"And insubordination, if my memory still works."
Again the swallow. "Yes, Commander."
"You and your friend—what was his name? Strato?—the two of you took on almost the whole of 'A' Squadron over some woman or other, and one of you was unwise enough to knock a decurion unconscious when he tried to stop the slaughter."
"Yes, Commander. I didn't see who he was until I hit him."
"Mmm! Well, any insubordination from now on will be to me, personally, since I am claiming your body for my own purposes. I'll instruct Centurion Phideas to that effect. In the meantime, I'm making you personally responsible for the welfare of our young friend here. You understand? He needs an interpreter, and he needs someone who knows his way around both this fort and a cavalry camp, who can show him the ropes. I'm making him one of my junior officers, one of my Optiones. I want you to make that clear to everyone concerned.
"You will treat him well, look after his butt, and teach him as much of our language as you can. Shouldn't be difficult. He's a bright lad and he's eager to learn. Most importantly, however, I want you to make a cavalryman out of him. Teach him about horses: how to care for them, how to groom and feed them, how to equip them, and how to ride. He's a complete tyro, so I'm making you a nursemaid. But you'd better teach him well, because he's going to be my personal attendant. That means he'll also have to learn the use, care and maintenance of weapons, armour and personal gear, all of my campaign equipment. Can you handle all of that, d'you think?"
He had been staring at me wide-eyed, his face a mask as he absorbed everything I was throwing at him. When I asked him this last question he blinked once and cleared his throat.
"Yes, Commander. Er...how much time do I have, sir?"
"How much do you think you'll need?" He glanced side-
ways at his new charge who was watching us, not understanding a word.
"Er, for the basics? Everything? A month?"
"A month you have. From tomorrow. Thirty days to turn a heathen prince into a Camulodian trooper. Don't worry about his officer's duties. That's my post. Just keep him out of trouble with your mates until he learns to handle himself. I'm assigning both of you to my personal squadron. You will hold the rank of acting centurion, with privileges. Hold it carefully. If you do this job properly, the rank will be permanent. Let me down and you'll be a bare-arsed trooper in Phideas's squadron again so fast, the speed of it will make you dizzy. Understood?"
His face broke into a wide smile. "Yes, Commander!"
"You will both need new uniforms. My troop wear black and silver, with the bear emblem. See Popilius. He'll set you up with whoever you need to deal with. Oh, and you'll need this." I sat down and stamped my seal onto a wax tablet, and over it I inscribed, "Centurion Rufio acts for me in the matter of the junior tribune, Donuil.—C. Merlyn."
"Take care of this, and use it only if you have to. I'm leaving tomorrow for a few days, so I won't be able to supervise your transfer. With that, you can handle it yourself. Talk to the Legate Titus.
"Now you'd better go and release yourself from 'C' Squadron. I'm sure Phideas will be heartbroken to see you leave, and as a centurion, too! I'll explain matters to the new junior tribune here and you can start him on his training tomorrow."
"Yes, Commander, and thank you." He saluted me and then he saluted Donuil and left.
Donuil turned to me, his eyebrows raised in curiosity at the salute, and I went over the whole thing again with him in his own language. By the time I had finished he was grinning from ear to ear, and he stood to attention and saluted me too. I had to smile.
"Thank you, Tribune Donuil," I said. "Please remember to tell Centurion Rufio to teach you to salute, too!"
As soon as I had got rid of him, I stretched out on my bunk and fell asleep, after taking the precaution of telling a guard to wake me up at nightfall, in three hours time. He did so, and under the friendly cover of darkness I left the fort and travelled back to Avalon with Cassandra's new clothes.
When she had overcome her awe and delight at the abundance of riches I had brought her, I spent two pleasant, satisfying hours in her arms and was back in my own bed shortly after midnight.
XX
I was in the stables when the messenger found me.
"Your pardon, Commander Merlyn, but Commander Uther requests that you join him in his quarters for a few moments."
I looked at the trooper in surprise. "He's supposed to be here already. I'm almost ready to leave."
"The Commander is ready, sir. His horses are tethered by the main gate."
I told him to tell Uther I would be along directly and continued tightening the girth on my saddle. My pack- horse, which was really an extra charger, was already loaded up with the few supplies I needed. It was still only the third hour of the morning. I guessed that Uther had gone to bed early and been up for hours.
I found him in his rooms, leaning against the whitewashed wall, putting an edge on a dagger with a small stone by the light of a couple of oil lamps.
"Good morning, Uther. All ready? What's up?"
"Good morning, Cousin." He grinned at me and nodded towards his bunk. Curious, I stepped to his bed and looked down at the device that lay there on top of the blanket.
"What is it?"
"Pick it up, then you tell me what it is."
I looked at it more closely before touching it: a weapon of some kind. A short, thick handle, covered in leather with a strong-looking leather loop at one end. The other end was sheathed in iron and attached to a short length of heavy chain links and on the other end of the chain, a ball about as big as a clenched fist.
"Is that iron?"
"Pick it up."
I did, and the ball, which was iron, remained on the bed as the chain extended with a series of clinks. I pulled it towards me and the ball fell from the bed, hitting the floor with a solid thud. The overall length of the thing was slightly shorter than my arm. I hoisted the ball clear of the floor. It was heavy.
"Very well, Uther. What is it?"
"Oh, come on, Merlyn! How many times have I had to listen to the tale of how you discovered the use of the saddle and stirrups? Can't you imagine what that thing would do to a man on foot if you swung it round your head?"
I hefted it tentatively, and suddenly I had no trouble in seeing what it was. "It would impress him."
"It would indeed—helmet, skull and all."
"Where did you get the idea?"
"You remember Vegetius Sulla's whistling stone? Partly from that. Partly from Grandfather Varrus's old story of you and the club. It's been lying around in my head for a long time now. I decided to have one made last time I was home. It worked, but the chain was too long, so was the handle, so we cut the length of the handle and reduced the chain to fourteen links, and there you are. I had one made for each of us. Yours is black, mine is red, see?" He bent and scooped another one from the floor by his feet. "Wrap the loop around your wrist and you can't lose it, even if you let go the handle."