In the meantime, however, in complete defiance of all my expectations and my most sincere prayers, 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 backward 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, however, Ban raised his uninjured hand slightly and waved the fingers gently from side to side as though indicating that he had something more to say on another topic. I nodded, my eyes fixed upon his lips, and he began to speak again in a papery whisper, speaking words that I have never forgotten.
“You have always been a fine boy, Clothar. You would have been … you are a living tribute to your parents, and I have been proud to watch you grow toward manhood. Now I shall watch you no more … not from this side of Heaven’s veil … .” He paused, and I remained motionless, waiting for him to continue but thinking that I had never before heard him mention the Christian Heaven by name. He coughed very gently, deep in his throat, then continued. “Young as you are, you have never been afraid of facing your duties, and that … that is as it should be. Duty comes first for a man of honor, Clothar. Never forget that. Never lose sight of it. So long as you hold fast to duty, you will hold fast to God, for He it is who defines duty, and He has great things in store for you. Be ready for them, Clothar, for they await you … but be ready, too, to find that they are onerous. Great rewards demand great sacrifices.” His eyes closed, but he held his hand still raised above the surface of his bedding, so I knew he was merely resting, not yet finished, and I waited until he spoke again.
“Auxerre,” he whispered then, his voice a mere breath. “Auxerre. Germanus. You must return there, to Auxerre, to Germanus. And let nothing come between you and that goal.” His eyes widened and it seemed to me a fiery spark sprang to life deep within them. “Promise me you will,” he said, reaching out to grasp my fingers in his own and surprising me with the strength of his grip. “Swear it to me: you will go from Benwick to Auxerre, to Germanus. Swear—” He stopped abruptly, and his eyes narrowed as he peered at me, pulling me down toward him. “You understand the swearing of an oath, what it means? Do you, boy?”
“Aye, Lord,” I nodded, repeating what I had been taught at the Bishop’s School. “It is a sacred promise to God Himself, not to be undertaken lightly and never to be broken, upon pain of damnation.”
“Aye, boy, that is what an oath is. Swear then, to me, that you will do as I bid you and that nothing will prevent you from doing it.”
I swore the oath at his request, looking directly into his eyes and accepting the duty he thus placed upon me, 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 before 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. That he should do so now was, I feared, an indication of just how weakened he had become.
He saw my reluctance, however, and reacted strongly to it, stiffening his voice and speaking with more authority. “I wish I could stand, boy, to be beside you with my hand upon your shoulder as you do this, but it may not be. Go you and bring me the guard who stands outside the tent. Quickly now.”
I did as he asked and then watched, uncomprehending, as he instructed the man to find the bishop who was chaplain to the Christian troopers and to bring him back with him. He then continued talking to me about trivial things, in that whisper-quiet voice, until the bishop entered some time later. The bishop bowed his head and Ban nodded once to him, in recognition, then asked the bishop to hand me the pectoral Cross that hung about his neck, and then to go back and wait outside. Clearly mystified, the bishop handed the ornate Cross to me and then bowed to the king before backing out of the tent, having spoken no single word. When we were alone again, ignoring the surgeon at the rear of the tent as he seemed to ignore us, Ban smiled at me, the ghost of the carefree grin I had loved for so many years.
“Up, boy, stand up and hold that thing out in front of you. Stretch out your arm. Is it as heavy as it looks?”
I nodded. It was even heavier than it looked, made of solid gold, but I said nothing.
“Aye, well it should be. It represents a heavy burden … your duty to God. Mine is almost over … my duty to the same God. You’ve never known me as a prayerful man, have you?” When I shook my head his faint smile widened. “That’s because I never have been one. But duty, Clothar … the acceptance of it … and … and the … discharging of it … are prayers by themselves, and I have never been one to … to shrink away from duty.” He paused, and I could see he was close to exhaustion, his voice near to being inaudible, and I held my breath, remaining motionless as I watched him will himself, eyes closed and breathing shallow, regular breaths, to regain sufficient strength to complete what he wished to say. Finally, after what seemed to me to be an age, although the watchful surgeon at my back showed no sign of alarm or concern, he mastered himself and began to speak again, his voice stronger and deeper.