What was it about Lord Paul and Lady Ainea that drove these men to labor so intensely, to strive so mightily, to work so hard and fight so gallantly? Calgacus, the monk considered this question as he walked to relax himself after the violent charge against the Citadel. Unlike Simon, the old monk his protégé could not dissipate the rush of adrenalin at a moment's notice. It took time to come down to solid earth again. However, he could use that time to good purpose, and this was one such opportunity.
His mind went over all the things he had experienced since meeting this supposedly French soldier of fortune. Harn de Rais had been quite a different sort of man than this one who wished to take on the task of being the ruler of the Basque nation. Standing for a time in the silent shadows, he listened to the night sounds as the time approached for the moon to hide itself for the night. As always, the event of the sun or moon disappearing at the end of its mysterious trip across the Heavens thrilled him and taunted him. Where did it go? How did it get from one side of the horizon to the other?
Like questions that really have simple answers often do, this one had puzzled Calgacus for many years. He never had been quite able to convince Simon of the intentness of his fascination with such things. Simon was completely content to accept what was as being, and let it go. Even as a small child, however, Calgacus had been different from his peers. He wanted to know why, and he wanted to know that right now. It had taken Simon many years to teach him the lesson of waiting for things to fulfill themselves.
As the twilight deepened and became full night, and that drifted off into darkness with the setting of the moon, the darker still shadow within the shadows finally moved. Calgacus had heard some kind of soft sounds, felt some vibration from the earth through his feet. he had to investigate.
What he found astounded him anew. At the behest of Sir Jamie, three of the Scottish knights were superintending the moving of the bombard into the city. They had recruited everyone they could find to assist. Calgacus quickly brought his horse to be added to those being harnessed to the huge casting, and then began to strip himself to his small-clothes. Throwing his usual friar's frock into his tent, he returned in haste to the bombard. Near there he scooped up some charcoal from an extinct small campfire and rubbed that on his skin to darken it and hide himself in the night. His small-clothes were dark grey and blended perfectly as it was.
Then he strapped himself into one of the pulling harnesses. When sir John of Morton gave the word, Calgacus was the first to put his back into pulling the great mass up and out of the pit on its new runners. It was hard, exhausting work, and his muscles screamed before they had gotten the heavy thing moved more than a hundred feet. Still, he kept on. (Why?) he thought. (Why am I doing this? Why am I willing to abuse myself so?) His own mind answered him. (Because I must. I can not disappoint Lord Paul, and even less so can I let the Lady Ainea down.)
At last he understood.
As soon as they got the dead weight in its new place, Calgacus recovered his horse. He rode slowly back to the camp thinking about the significance of his self-discovery. Something had changed. When was it? What was it? But it was no simple, single thing. It was the aggregate of all that he had seen of them. They had grown upon him. And with what result? Calgacus realized that he no longer needed the committed approval of the Irish Captains. In fact, he did not really need the approval of even Lord Paul. Indeed something had changed. Paul had taught him to look for his own approval, the feeling of approving of one's self.
It was a lesson Calgacus never would forget.
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