by Jack Whyte
Daris was staring at his friend now, appalled, recognizing the truth as he heard it. "That was the single strongest reason for my fears over Pendragon," he said finally. "I had it reasoned out that if Uther were King, and then went off to Camulod for any time, Meradoc would foment civil war."
"And so he would. You're right. But he'll do it anyway even as King, and if he's King, he'll be stronger than ever. So we have to decide what to do if Uther stays away."
"What can we do?"
"We can declare an interregnum."
Daris's jaw dropped. "How can we do that? We have a candidate."
"Aye, but he could be dead by this time tomorrow. That wouldn't surprise me at all. Men die all the time. Look at poor Petifax here." The old Chief grinned suddenly. "Shut your mouth, Daris, before something flies into it. I was but jesting. You don't think I'd mention it to you, the Chief Druid, if I was serious, do you?"
Daris turned his face away to cover his confusion, and then he stiffened. "Another one. Now the trouble begins."
"What trouble? He attacked me."
Cativelaunus turned and looked to where another man had emerged from the doorway of the hut and now stood staring at them, his eyes moving from the two standing men to the body sprawled at their feet. They both saw his eyes focus low down on Cativelaunus, and the old man bent forward to look down at himself. "Damnation, I've got blood all over my leg. Didn't jump back fast enough." He looked back up to where the newcomer stood watching, unmoving, but then the other man turned and walked away without a backward look.
"There's interesting, now. Who was that fellow? Another of Meradoc's animals?"
"Aye, but I know him. He's a Northerner. Owain of the Caves, they call him."
"Another foreigner. They're all foreigners. I wonder why he walked away like that? You'd think he'd be curious about his friend here, not to mention the excuse to raise a few voices. And where did he come from? He wasn't in there earlier."
Before Daris could answer, Brynn of Y Gaer emerged from the doorway and stood blinking in the sun. He saw them quickly, and they saw the shock on his face as he noticed the dead man. He glanced once over his shoulder to the door behind him, and then moved directly towards them.
"Watch this old rogue," Cativelaunus murmured. "Did you see how his jaw fell when he saw sweet Petifax here? Watch you now, by the time he reaches us, he'll have us believing he sees dead men lying at my feet every day." He raised his voice. "Have you been sent to fetch me too?"
Brynn reached them and sniffed gently, glancing casually towards Petifax's body. "Not if it means sharing that one's bed tonight. What happened?"
"He laid hands on me. Thought I wasn't being quick enough to please him or his master."
"Hmm. Well, his master's pleased enough right now. He just announced that he'll be King tomorrow. Uther won't be coming. He offered to take wagers on it."
"Did he, by the gods? What happened?"
"I don't know. Some fellow walked in and stood against the wall and—"
"Was it that fellow yonder? The one walking away, over there in the green?"
Brynn turned and peered in the direction of Cativelaunus's pointing finger, squinting against the sun's brightness. "Aye, that's the one. Who is he? Do you know?"
"That's not important. What did he say?"
Brynn shrugged his shoulders, dipping his head to one side as he did so. "Nothing, didn't say a word. He simply walked in and leaned against the wall for a space, then went out again as soon as Meradoc had finished speaking. I happened to be looking towards the door as he came in, else I might not have noticed him. Didn't pay much attention to him, either, except to wonder who he was that he could simply stroll into the Chief's hut like a Chief himself. Then I realized he must be one of Meradoc's crew . . . his special ones. So I turned back to Meradoc, and that's when he saw the fellow too. He stopped in the middle of what he was saying . . . something about Lot of Cornwall . . . and next thing I know, he's announcing that Uther Pendragon will not be coming for the Choosing. The word had come to him this morning, he said, that Uther remains in Camulod and has no interest in being King in Cambria. I tell you, it was strange."
"What was strange, Brynn?"
Brynn of Y Gaer turned to look at Daris. "Everything, Daris, everything. He said he'd received word this morning, but it seemed to me that he was making an announcement of something he had just learned. You know, the way he spoke, blurting it out like that when a moment earlier he'd been talking about something else altogether. It didn't make sense."
"Ah, but by the gods it did!" Cativelaunus's voice was low, angry and filled with tension. "The message was delivered when that other whoreson walked in through the doorway. He didn't have to speak, I'll wager. If he had been sent to get rid of Uther Pendragon, then all he had to do was show his face to announce it done. Whoreson!"
Cativelaunus began to walk, moving quickly, his jaw set. Daris reached out and caught him by the sleeve.
"'Launus, wait! Where are you going? You can't just walk in there angry and confront Meradoc with your suspicions. He has his men about him, and you don't. They'd cut you down before you could say anything."
"You take me for a fool? I don't want to breathe the air that whoreson breathes. I'm going to find some of my own men, and then we're going to find that other whoreson—what did you call him?"
"Owain. Owain of the Caves."
"Aye, him, and once we have him, we'll have what he knows, because he doesn't have the balls to stand the kind of pain I'm going to put him through without spilling his guts. And once we have his story on Uther's death, then Meradoc's dead too, and we have interregnum. Come on, Brynn."
Daris stood and watched the two old men sweep away towards their own section of the camp, moving with a speed and determination that belied their age.
Chapter SEVENTEEN
Meradoc was aware that Cativelaunus had not come at his summons, but for the time being he cared little. The other old fool, Brynn, had wandered outside to join his friend, so by now he would have told Cativelaunus the news about Pendragon, and it really made no difference whether the old Chief came or not. His good opinion was no longer anything for Meradoc to fret over. It was already too late for anyone—even the oldest, most respected Chiefs—to alter tomorrow's outcome. Meradoc would be chosen with his majority of four votes. The votes of the two old Griffyds were now worth no more than gusts of hot air.
Meradoc turned away from the others, moving towards the cask of ale that sat against the wall behind him and leaving Chief Cunbelyn talking to himself and blinking his bulging eyes as he accepted the fact that Meradoc had snubbed him once again. Meradoc was unconscious of the insult he had given. In his eyes, Cunbelyn had always been a fool and always would be, and Meradoc avoided him, except for those times when he needed the man's support as a Llewellyn Chief. Now he hail more important things than Cunbelyn's witless prattle to think about. Tomorrow Cunbelyn would cast his vote in favour of Meradoc, and after that he would be expendable again, practically useless.
Meradoc had not known how concerned he was over Uther Pendragon until Owain of the Caves had walked through that door and sidled sideways to lean his back against the wall. No smile, no recognition, no acknowledgment, no hint of satisfaction—merely the simple fact of his being there. That was Owain, blunt to the point of absolute silence. "I'm here," his presence said. "Make your own judgment on the how and why of it."
Meradoc had made his judgment immediately, surprised to feel his heart bounding beneath his ribs in profound relief. He had been talking at the time, he recalled, but no longer had any idea what he had been saying. Whatever it was, it had lost all significance beside the import of the Cave Man's appearance. He had stopped, he knew, in mid-word, but then he had resumed almost immediately, making the transition smoothly, he believed, as though catching up with his own thoughts. He had mentioned only casually that he had been informed earlier in the day that Uther Pendragon should no longer be considered in contention for
the King's seat. Uther had announced his decision not merely to absent himself from the Choosing, but to remain as far away from the Pendragon lands as he could. His home, now and forever, would be Camulod. Meradoc had been casual in his announcement, almost offhand, he reminded himself now, amazed at his own reticence when he had wanted to leap into the air and scream in triumph, trumpeting the Pendragon's death to the world.
Now he could take time to savour the satisfaction, and in the act of pouring a mug of beer, Meradoc suddenly realized that he was ravenous. He gulped at the foaming beer, then put it down again and ripped a wedge of bread from the large loaf on the table in front of him. digging a hole in the soft centre with his fingers and stuffing it with several of the small, crisp-skinned, strongly smoked fish he had loved ever since early boyhood, feeling the saliva spurting beneath his tongue as their strong, salty odour filled his nostrils. Clamping the folded wedge of bread tightly, he raised it to his mouth, but before he bit into it he caught sight of Janus, his most trusted man, watching him from his position against the far wall of the room. Meradoc paused, anticipating the bite he was about to take, and beckoned the man over with a toss of his head. Janus was beside him in two strides.
"I sent Petifax to fetch the old man, Cativelaunus. He hasn't come back. Find him and send him to me. Then find Owain. Tell him I want to see him within the hour in my tent. But find Petifax first."
As Meradoc was speaking, a shadow darkened the doorway as Daris, the High Priest, paused awkwardly on the threshold. Meradoc watched him step inside, silent, wondering what had made the Druid stop the way he had. Daris had seen him and was looking at him strangely.
"He is dead," the Druid said.
Meradoc blinked, uncomprehending, wondering it' by some freak chance Daris had heard about Uther's murder.
"Who is?" he asked, aware that he still held the bread up in front of his mouth.
"Your man, Petifax."
"What?" Meradoc had heard the words, but their meaning had not yet penetrated.
"Petifax is dead. Cativelaunus killed him."
"Cative—?" Meradoc stood staring, his thoughts tumbling over each other. All sound in the room had died and he knew that everyone was listening, waiting for his reaction, but for long moments he had no words with which to respond. Finally he jerked his head in a short, sharp negative. "That can't be. I sent him to bring the old man to me."
"I know, and he tried too hard. He laid hold of 'Launus and tried to drag him here. 'Launus killed him where he stood."
"By the swarming gods! Where is he?"
Daris raised an eyebrow. "Who, 'Launus or Petifax? 'Launus is gone, I don't know where, but your man Petifax is lying out in front of the hut."
Meradoc threw his untasted bread onto the table and strode to the door, shouldering Daris aside as he passed, aware of the others crowding behind him. He saw the sprawled body immediately from the doorway and stopped short, so that someone following too close behind bumped into him, pushing him forward through the exit. Ignoring the jostling, Meradoc gathered himself, taking a firm grip on his shock, and made himself walk forward slowly, ignoring the others as his eyes swept the space ahead of him.
There were several people standing around gaping, but the body lay in a space of its own and was very obviously lifeless. Meradoc kept moving, more and more slowly, until he was within touching distance of the dead man. Someone else passed by him and stopped even closer to the corpse. Because he was looking down at Petifax, Meradoc could only see the other's lower legs, but he knew it was young Huw Strongarm.
"He's dead, no doubt of that." The young Chief's voice was very mild.
"Aye," Meradoc muttered, his voice choked with fury. "And I'll be—"
"And so he should be, the fool."
Meradoc glanced up, his eyes wide with disbelief. "What do you mean?"
The Pendragon glanced quickly at him, and then his eyes returned to the body at their feet. "What kind of fool lays unwelcome hands on a ruling Chief ? A soon-to-be-dead fool! This idiot obviously thought he was dealing with an impotent old man. Hah!" The bark of laughter was savage, belying the age of the boy from whom it issued. "Old 'Launus, impotent? I'll wager Petifax didn't even see the stroke that killed him. He was lucky. Cativelaunus could have had him flayed alive, as an example to others. I once watched my father chop the hands off a drunkard who attacked him on a dark night, not even knowing he was a Chief. It's the one law that no one ever is allowed to break: lay hands on a Chief and die."
Meradoc was staring wide-eyed at the younger man, gritting his teeth and forcing himself to quell his anger. Huw Strongarm's conviction was absolute, and Meradoc knew that he himself, despite his fury, was going to have to accept the younger man's judgment as the verdict of all other thinking men. What Huw had said was true, and had the dead man not been one of Meradoc's own closest and most trusted confederates, then Meradoc himself would have been the first to condemn him and swear that Petifax had earned the death that claimed him. But Petifax had been his man! And so this killing was a challenge to his strength and should be—must be—punished. But there were politics involved, matters of great delicacy, so this was not the time to rant and rave.
The Llewellyn inhaled deeply, straightening his spine, stretching his head high and turning his eyes towards the others who now surrounded them, being careful to keep his face calm and empty of expression. Vengeance he would have, he swore to himself; Cativelaunus would die for this, but later, and in secret. In the meantime, he had spent too much time courting and cultivating Huw Strongarm's good regard to jeopardize it now. Even the thought of risking the young man's vote chilled him as it occurred to him. An abstention by Huw Strongarm, combined with the antipathy of the two old fools from the northeast, would make three votes against his three Llewellyn votes and give the final Choosing vote to the High Priest. The thought of that was not pleasant, for Meradoc knew in his deepest soul that even without Uther Pendragon's competition, Daris, given the chance, would cast a vote for interregnum before he would back Meradoc. He let out his breath slowly, then reached out one foot and slid his toe beneath the dead man's wrist before pushing the lifeless arm to lie closer to the body.
"Aye," he said quietly. "Petifax was hotheaded, and sometimes foolish because of it. He was ever . . . obedient, nonetheless, and I had sent him to bring 'Launus to speak with me. I meant, of course, that he should ask the Chief to join me, but I might not have made that clear enough. Who would have thought I'd need to? But Petifax was not of our people, and so I sent the poor fool to his death . . ." He stopped, then shook his head sorrowfully for the benefit of those around him.
"Farewell, then, Petifax. I prized you for your loyalty, but never for your brains."
No one else spoke, and Meradoc looked over to where some of the loiterers stood watching the gathering of Chiefs. He pointed to the largest of them.
"You there, the big fellow. Pick out a couple of your friends to help you take this body and dispose of it. Bury him deep, and then report to me for the reward you will have earned. And mind you treat him well—he was a faithful follower of mine. Handle his body with respect and bring his weapons safely back to me. I'll pay you well." He swung back to the others. "Come, my friends," he said, his voice filled with sadness. "There's naught more we can do for Petifax, except remember him. He fell foul of the law and died for it. Come you and drink with me to Petifax's death and to the life he led."
As the group filed back into the stone hut, Janus sidled close to his Chief.
"You still want me to find Owain. Master?"
"I do, but I will meet him later, now that this has happened. Tell him to come to me after the evening meal."
The drinking to the memory of Petifax grew into an evening- long carousal, and Daris left early, knowing he had a hundred things to do before the fall of night.
Sometime after the Druid's departure, Janus returned with word for Meradoc that Owain of the Caves was nowhere to be found and had evidently left the encampment.
Meradoc was angry at first, but he soon convinced himself that he should be tolerant of his servant's laxity. The man had done good work, and he had been gone in the doing of it for a month. He deserved a night to himself. . .
Cativelaunus of Carmarthen and Brynn of Y Gaer remained absent and unregretted at the festivities.
Meradoc struggled awake and pushed himself up onto one elbow, blinking at the shadowy shape that towered over him in the grey light. Then, recognizing the Cave Man, he shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind and winced at the hammer blow of pain the movement caused. Cursing and groaning, he struggled to sit up, spitting to clear his mouth. Owain of the Caves made no sound but simply stood there, slightly hunched, beneath the sloping roof, staring down at him.
The sound of heavy rain battering at the leather of the tent above Owain's head set the Chief's teeth on edge. Through the partially open flaps he could see shimmering puddles of rainwater being whipped by the force of the downpour. He squinted and spat again, then pulled his knees up until he could sit straight-backed.
"How long has it been raining?"
"Most of the night."
"By the swarming gods, I must have drunk the entire cask last night. Where were you?"
The big Northerner shrugged. "I had things to tend to. I thought you'd have no need of me, and I'd been long without a woman."
"Hmm. What hour is it?"
"Just after dawn. I thought you'd want to be astir early today. I brought water, in case you need to wash the sleep out of your face before going out."
Meradoc looked to where Owain was pointing and nodded his head, seeing the leather bucket that hung from the pegged frame at the foot of his cot. "Good. Where's Janus?"
