I have heard men otherwise considered wise say that it is impossible few: a man to lie to himself. Of all human statements, I think that must rank among the most foolish. We lie to ourselves constantly, trying to live up to our own expectations of ourselves. Self-delusion is probably the most common of all human characteristics.
If I have gained any wisdom in my life, it is the wisdom to thank God for having kept me too busy during those days for time to dwell deeply on this quest for self-knowledge. I must have been insufferable to those around me, because I soon began to discern the amount of work and dedication that would be called for, if this task I had set myself were to be faced properly, and I felt a driving need to discuss it with anyone and everyone who would listen. I saw almost immediately that the temptation towards self-delusion is enormous. I saw also how easy it would have been simply to decide that I had been correct in my own interpretation of myself, because I knew myself better and more profoundly than any other could.
Fortunately Meric, my old Druid teacher and mentor, came to visit us at Camulod around that time. Meric was a lover of argument, polemic and philosophical debate. He and I spent days together, deep in conversation, and everyone around us must have been sad to see him depart after only a few weeks, leaving them vulnerable to me and my agony again. When I saw the glazed look I came to recognize and hate invade the eyes of yet another unwilling listener, I would sometimes sneak away to find my love in her hidden vale, knowing that I could talk to her for hours and hours, should I so wish, and that, no matter what my topic, she would sit in her wordless, soundless world, content simply to have me there beside her.
I did decide that Uther's assessment of me had been correct, and I set out to change myself in a number of ways, including curing myself of my tendency to be judgmental. I thought long and hard, for hours on end, on what my father had had to say just a few months earlier on judgments, and his views on evidence, circumstance, and the value of reasonable doubt. And I decided that I had a duty to come to know everyone around me as well and as thoroughly and genuinely as I possibly could, so that any judgment I might be tempted to make concerning them would at least be based on knowledge and understanding. Again, a massive and intimidating undertaking, and yet one I began to enjoy more and more as I worked at it. For I soon found that the rewards of this new policy far exceeded the hardship involved.
I found that the people I spent such time with became more friendly, more personable and more willing to trust me, once they came to accept that I really was interested in knowing them for who and what they were. And I found that most people were far more admirable than I had suspected they might be, so that I soon came to recognize respect for what I now know it to be—something to which all people are entitled, until they forfeit it personally and wilfully.
I learned much about the people of Camulod, and came more and more to think of them as "my" people, but it was to be many, many months before I had either the opportunity or the courage to face Uther and admit that he had been right, and to ask his forgiveness. When I finally did, he frowned in complete puzzlement, then realized what I was talking about and grinned and squeezed the back of my neck in one great hand, saying he had heard I was changing quickly—and for the better—and that he had high hopes for me.
With Uther gone to his mountain kingdom, I felt free to spend more time, in longer and longer stretches, with my beloved Cassandra. Our chain of command in Camulod by that time was such that, had I so wished, I could easily have stayed away for months on end, secure in the knowledge that everything would progress peacefully and lawfully in the Colony during my absence, and that any emergencies would be dealt with swiftly and competently, without any need of guidance from me. That I chose not to do so was the result of several circumstances, one of them being the new resolve I have just described. Another was the genuine pleasure I found in the training of young Donuil for the duties he was determined to assume in the future, a pleasure leavened by the keen, intuitive insight the young man demonstrated, and reinforced by the genuine need I perceived to advance his education as quickly as possible, with a view to grooming him as an eventual replacement for Titus. Titus had been badly affected by my father's death, and almost overnight I watched him change into an elderly man—he who, like my father himself, had previously seemed impervious to time and its dictates.
In my passion to make changes within myself, I took pains to spend a great deal of time with him, mainly in the evenings, when the daily tasks were completed. I spent long, wonderful evenings talking with him, but primarily listening to him talk about my father and the years they had spent together. On many of these occasions, we were joined by Flavius, the third member of my father's triumvirate, and listening to the two of them reminiscing I learned more about the man who had been my father than I had ever known.
On one such evening, soon after Uther's departure, all three of us mellowed by wine, I told them in detail of young Donuil's idea, and of my own conviction of the strength and soundness of it. When I had finished talking, they both sat silent for a time, digesting what I had told them. Neither was quick to comment. Titus was the first to speak, clearing some phlegm from his throat and turning to Flavius. "What do you think, Flavius?"
Flavius scratched at the tight-curled, wiry, iron-grey hair that covered his scalp and remained silent, thinking his way deliberately through the pros and cons of this unexpected proposal. "I'm surprised," he admitted, eventually, "but I'm not opposed." He continued to scratch, gazing at me, his thoughts and attention turned inward. "He's an impressive young man, so I think you should go with your instincts, Cay. Give the boy his head and see how he performs. He might let you down, and you won't know that until the time comes. But anyone else you choose—and you'll have to choose someone—might let you down, too, even harder. You want to try the lad. Then try him, I say, and good luck to both of you. You're going to need someone. There's no one else qualified to do the job right now, and sooner or later you're going to have to turn us two old war-horses out to pasture."
Titus sat up, as though he were about to dispute that, and then he sighed and slumped in his chair again. "Flavius is right, Cay," he said. "The timing is good. And I believe you are doing the right thing, although the boy has much to learn. Fortunately, he learns quickly and well. That is already obvious from the way he has picked up our language. You should prepare a formal, disciplined schedule of duties for him: so much time with Rufio, learning basic military skills, so much time with you, learning the needs you will have for him, and the remainder with me, learning to understand and control the things that make this Colony function." He moved to a more comfortable position and grinned at me. "I'll be happy to teach him what little I know. I'll even show him how to break and manipulate the rules he himself will have to live by. Have him come to me tomorrow, before noon. I'll try to get to know him better during the coming weeks. That way, I'll be able to gauge the speed and the extent of his future tuition."