Camulod Chronicles Book 8 - Clothar the Frank by Jack Whyte Read Free Book Online

containers so their contents ran or oozed out into the dirt. I looked up then and nodded to Clovis, bidding him open the other chest and follow my example. Three trays remained in my chest, the topmost filled with oblong boxes of green glazed clay filled with some kind of greenish paste. I dumped them out onto the floor, too, kicking their lids away and turning the boxes over with my booted toes, so that their contents lay face down on the dirt.
    The next tray contained what I took to be hanks of dried grasses and small tied bundles of twigs and dried herbs. I didn't know what those were, but they would serve as kindling for the fire I would light the following day. I piled them in the center of the floor. The bottom of the chest, the deepest compartment, was empty, save for a fat, squat wooden box containing what looked like a handful of granular black powder, which I shook out onto the pile of grass. The array of trays on my left would burn well.
    "Look at this, Father." Clovis was holding something out to me. "It looks like a man's hair and face, peeled off the bone."
    "It's a mask. A mummer's trickery. Throw it with the rest."
    In less time than it has taken me to describe, we had emptied both chests, and their contents lay piled on the floor, surrounded by the half score of trays and the empty chests themselves.
    "Those are wondrous chests, Father, well made. It seems a pity to destroy such things."
    "We need them to burn, to destroy what they contained. Merlyn was quite clear about that. But there's not enough fuel in here to do that properly, so tomorrow morning, as soon as it's light, I want you to start gathering wood and bringing it in here. Have your friends help you. There'll be little dry wood, but no matter. Find what you can and chop it up into pieces small enough to bring through the entrance. Pack this place to the ceiling, if you can. The hotter the fire we make, the more completely we'll destroy what's here. But if your friends pay any attention to what's scattered on the floor, discourage them. Don't let them touch anything on the floor with their bare hands. If they ask you what we've done here, or why we did it, tell them it is my wish—that these are useless things too heavy to take home to Gaul. Tell them I have decided I have no wish to see them again, because of memories they stir in me. They will believe you. This is a day for memories, they have seen that. But on no account will you allow any of them to touch anything, unless you want to see them shrivel up and die before your eyes. Is that clear?"
    His eyes were wide and full of conviction. "Yes, Father. I'll watch them closely. They won't touch anything."
    "Good. I'll trust you to see to it. Now pick up my box, if you will, and let's get out of here. It's almost too dark to see, so it must be near nightfall."
    The rain held off that night and we slept well, and at dawn we were up and about. Clovis and his friends made short work of filling the cave with wood, and if any of them even noticed the spillage on the cave floor they made no mention of it. I spent that time alone, sitting on the cot and reading over Merlyn's letter several times, resisting the temptation to open any of the three parcels. When I smelled the tang of smoke from green wood, I went outside where I could see thick white smoke drifting from the trees fronting the vent that formed the entrance to the cave. My escort, their work over, were standing around, idly watching the increasing clouds of smoke. I called them together and brought them to order, and they stood grouped around the open grave as we lowered the tiny bundle containing the brittle bones of Merlyn Britannicus to rest.
    I found myself unsure of what to say over his grave, not having known if he was Christian or Druid. I had never been curious about his creed before. He had simply been Merlyn, sufficient unto himself, unbeholden to anyone, god or man. Now, however, I felt a need to say something aloud,