by Jack Whyte
Dyllis coloured prettily and raised her head high. "Believe me, the Lady Deirdre is no mistress to King Lot. Nor need you fear her motives. Nothing would be more to Lady Deirdre's liking than to have Queen Ygraine safe home again as quickly as may be, and safe from your captivity."
Uther stared at her for long moments, his brows drawn slightly together, then nodded decisively. "So be it. I shall use your Lady Deirdre as my messenger. She will be my interlocutor in dealing with Lot."
"But—but you cannot. . ." the Lady Dyllis looked scandalized. "You cannot, surely, think to send the Lady Deirdre out alone to do your bidding? Surely you will grant her at least one companion?"
"One companion? She will have an armed escort. She will come to no harm."
"An armed escort? That will be well enough for her protection while travelling, but she will require a companion, someone with whom she may be herself. She needs more than an escort of drunken soldiery. Think you your base-born troopers could be fit company for any high-born lady?"
Uther appeared to think about that for a time, then nodded in agreement. "Very well, we will permit her a companion. Will you accompany her?"
Dyllis sat blinking at him, her eyes awash with tears as she realized what was being asked of her, and then she nodded wordlessly.
Uther grinned and stood up. "My thanks, Lady Dyllis, you have relieved my mind. Now please inform your friends that they will soon be removed again, with your Queen, this time to a place of safety, with clean, pleasant and private accommodations away from the close proximity of common, base-born soldiery. They will all be lodged there in comfort until this treaty is completed and they can return home. And in the meantime, I can wage my war while the Lady Deirdre sues with Lot for your deliverance." He paused, evidently thinking, and then resumed. "Your guards will take you back now, but will you ask your Lady Deirdre to return here with them, and tell her, if you please, that she will not be harmed in doing so?" He saw her nod and returned the gesture as he stood up. "My thanks for this." He beckoned to one of the guards. "Return the lady to her friends and bring back the woman Deirdre."
Ygraine approached the meeting with Uther with misgivings, her mind still full of the terrifying comment he had made to her concerning Deirdre of the Violet Eyes. His mention of that name had shattered what small degree of equanimity had been left to Ygraine, because the impossibility of his knowing it had been, to her sure knowledge, complete and unequivocal. Uther Pendragon could not ever, under any conceivable circumstances, have heard anything of Deirdre of the Violet Eyes, because Deirdre of the Violet Eyes had died as a mere child and had been dead for many years, and during the brief span of her life she had never left her home in Eire, beyond the sea and far beyond the knowledge of an untutored savage from the mountains of Cambria.
Now, summoned into Uther's presence, she walked slowly. Dyllis had informed her about every aspect of her own conversation with the Pendragon King, but still Ygraine wondered what might be coming. The guards, somewhat to her surprise, made no attempt to hurry her along, but merely walked beside her, adjusting their pace to hers. Abruptly aware of that, she stopped moving altogether, simply to see what they would do, and they stopped with her, standing in silence, waiting for her to start walking again.
They arrived soon after that at the tent that Dyllis had described to her, where the large, saddled horse still stood grazing beneath the hawthorn tree. There was no sign of Uther Pendragon, and when one of her guards bade her be seated, Ygraine obeyed the instruction and sat in one of the two chairs.
A short time later, Uther approached through the trees, surprising her because she had assumed he was in the tent. He came striding towards her, removing his helmet and drying perspiration from his forehead with the crook of his elbow, and when he reached the table in front of her he stopped and inclined his head in an informal salute.
"I am glad you agreed to speak with me," he said. "And grateful."
She looked directly up at him, keeping her face free of expression. "Grateful? You mean I could have chosen not to come?"
"Of course."
"And had I so chosen, what then?"
"Then my guards would have brought you anyway, but not so gently."
"I see. Well, now that we both understand the terms of my presence here, what would you have of me? I have no wish to remain any longer than I must."
"Lady," the big man said with a rueful grin, "I was jesting. In truth, had you chosen not to come, I would have come to you, instead." He looked over to where the two guards stood at attention and nodded to one of them. "I no longer need you. I'll look after the lady myself now. Dismiss." He stood watching the two troopers as they marched away in lockstep, then turned back to where Ygraine sat watching him. "I will not keep you long. I imagine that the Lady Dyllis has already informed you as to what I want of you?"
"You mean regarding the Queen and her ransom."
"Yes." He placed his helmet carefully on the tabletop, then reached out and took hold of the other chair, pulling it towards him. When it was positioned properly, he swept his cloak out from behind him and slung it across his arm to keep it out of the way before he sat down across from her with the table between them. When he was securely seated, he released the folds of his cloak, draping them across his knees, and then looked her directly in the eye.
"Would you be willing to serve as liaison between myself and Gulrhys Lot in this matter of the Queen and your captivity ?"
"To what end?"
He frowned, a quick drawing together of his brows that briefly registered surprise that she would ask such a thing. "Why . . . to the end of gaining your Queen's release. What other end could there be?"
Ygraine tilted her head to one side and made no effort to disguise the depth of her cynicism. "Well, let me see . . . You are a man like Gulrhys Lot, so that means there could be ancillary ends . . . pressing, even self-serving reasons for your concern over the Queen. I say that with no wish to offend you, but surely you must see how someone might judge your concern for her welfare as springing from reasons more concerned with your good than with hers. You might, for example, hope to gain some military or even monetary advantage over King Lot from your possession of her person."
He gazed at her, straight-faced, but she fancied she saw a hint of humour in his eyes. "No, never! How could you even think such a thing might be possible? That I, or anyone, might seek personal gain from such a circumstance?"
"Laugh at me if you wish, Sir King, and hope as highly as you may. Your hopes will be soon dashed."
He gazed at her for several moments after that before he responded. "How so?"
She pursed her lips, then spoke quietly. "Why, because you will be basing false hope upon Gulrhys Lot's sense of honour and his regard for his wife, the Queen."
Uther smiled a small, chilly smile. "Lady, I would never be fool enough to suspect Lot of knowing what honour is, so how then could I base any hope upon his having any? But are you telling me he has no regard for his Queen?"
"No, I am not. I am telling you that Gulrhys Lot is not sufficiently weak as to allow consideration for any woman, be it his wife or even his mother, to interfere with what he believes to be his destiny. You may send anyone you please to talk with him and to create some set of terms by which he may obtain the Queen's freedom, but he will gull you at the end and use your silly honour to gut you when you least expect it."
"Would he do that if it cost him his Queen's life? I doubt that, lady. Not even Gulrhys Lot would be so careless of the fate of his lady wife."
Ygraine smiled, but without humour. "Doubt all you wish, it matters not to me."
"So you will not go to Lot, to deal with him on behalf of the Queen?"
She made no response, but looked over to where the horse had stopped cropping and now stood with his head erect, his ears t witching from side to side as he took note of the noises around him.
"Lady? I require an answer of you, if you will. Are you telling me you will not go to Gulrhys
Lot bearing my message? I have arranged that you will not go alone. The other woman, Dyllis, will accompany you."
"She told me that already. And I will go if you yet wish to send me, but I can tell you now, before we proceed farther, that should I go, Lot will not permit me to return. There would be no advantage to him in so doing."
"Of course there would. He would regain his Queen."
"Aye, but at what cost? Besides, Ygraine is no Queen. Boudicca of the Iceni was a Queen; she ruled her people truly, but men killed her four hundred years and more ago. Ygraine is a King's wife, no more than that—not even a companion, and less than a concubine. She is a dowered wife bestowed upon Lot by her father to seal a bargain made between two men. Her value may be accurately gauged in terms of weapons, warriors, and gold and silver bars, and Lot already has all those in his possession. Those things subtracted, Ygraine the so-called Queen is merely another woman, and no King ever lacks for women . . . did you not know that? By simply keeping Dyllis and me, Lot could undo all you think to have gained at this time. You would have deprived him of a woman who was but a wife, but in so doing, you would have presented him with two replacements, potential concubines to be used without commitment."
Uther was staring at Ygraine now with widened eyes. "By the gods, lady," he murmured. "You have no great love for your King, do you?"
"Love? I said nothing of love. But I have no great regard for Kings. Indeed, I have but little love for men in general, and when men and matters of governance are mixed, I have found that women always fare badly. Gulrhys Lot is a man and so are you, and both of you take pride in being Kings. Between the two of you, you possess all the wealth and all the weapons you require to wage your wars, and that makes us, as women, insignificant."
"Hmm." Uther sat staring at her, pinching his lower lip between finger and thumb. Finally he sighed and stood up. "What makes a person or an event insignificant? I do not expect you to answer that, Lady Deirdre, but it occurs to me that there is something I should tell you now, so that you can pass the information to your Queen before she hears a different version elsewhere." He paused and scratched his chin. "There has been one occurrence here within recent days that might seem more significant than it really is, if it were reported wrongly. Five days ago, a party of my men marched out of here, escorting some six score of men captured in the raid in which we also took you prisoner. All of these six score men were common soldiery, wearing the shoulder insignia of Herliss. Today, my men returned, but they brought no prisoners back with them. Now, what think you about that?"
She was staring at him, appalled. "You killed them? No, you could not do that." It was almost a question, and he could see from her expression that she believed he could indeed do exactly that. He said nothing, gazing at her in silence until she blurted, "You murdered all of them ? Six score of them?"
"Aye," he said, sighing. "That's what I thought you would think—the first thing that sprang into your head. No, lady, I did not murder them, nor did I have my men murder them on my behalf. I gave them back their weapons and some food and set all of them free on the high moors, miles from anywhere."
"Hah! You expect me to believe that? That you would free men to return home and rearm themselves to come against you again? I would have to be a fool to think so!"
He shrugged his wide shoulders, looking her in the eyes and seeing how desperately she would have liked to believe him. "Perhaps you are, then. You would know that better than I. I think, though, that you would certainly be a fool to think that any of those men would dare go back again to Lot, expecting forgiveness for having lost his wagons and his siege engines, as well as his wife and all her ladies . . . but most particularly his siege engines. I doubt if I would be that brave or that foolish . . .
"I set them free, lady, certain that they all knew that Lot would never have done the same. None of those men will ever come against me again, and that is no more than the simple truth."
She gazed into his eyes, recognizing that it was as he said, and she felt something, something that had been hard and sharp-edged, break loose and fall away inside her.
He reached out and touched her shoulder, turning her gently to face the direction from which she had arrived.
"Come, lady, let me walk back with you." He left his helmet lying on the tabletop as he turned and moved away slowly, deep in thought and making no attempt to touch her again, so that she followed him, walking quickly until she had gained his side. He spoke to her as they went, his tone conversational.
"Tomorrow, the Queen and her other women will leave here and travel northward, back to Camulod. We have a wagon for them, so they will not have to walk. There they will be lodged in comfort and in far more safety than I can offer them in the middle of a raiding campaign until Gulrhys Lot has come to terms with me. Should he turn out to be the man you have described to me. then . . . I know not what I might do. That's a bridge I won't cross till I need to, as they say. But that's it. I have made up my mind. So please tell the other women what I intend to do and that they need to be ready. And some time later, you and the Lady Dyllis will leave in search of Lot, to acquaint him with my terms for the Queen's return. When he and I have agreed upon those terms, the Queen and all her women will be freed to return home. Ah, there they all are. They must have been concerned for you. I'll stop here."
He did so immediately, and Ygraine, on the point of hurrying forward to where the other women awaited her, turned suddenly and raised one hand to prevent him from leaving immediately. He paused, one eyebrow raised as he waited for her question, but she had to cast about before she could find the words with which to phrase it.
"My worn—, the women, my friends, and the Queen . . . should Gulrhys Lot refuse to discuss . . . what did you call it, terms for them? Should that occur, would you . . . will you . . . kill them?"
Uther Pendragon looked at her solemnly and then drew himself erect, heaving a huge sigh. "Barbarian," he said. "Is that the kindest word you might have for me, perhaps? No, lady, I would not kill your friends, nor would I feed them to my dogs or even give them to my men for sport. I would not even keep them prisoners, adding a further insult to their own King's disregard for them. Now, were you to tell that to Gulrhys Lot, then he would certainly refuse to treat with me on their behalf, but you yourself would be betraying your Queen and your friends in the telling, so dwell upon that if you will. And now farewell, lady, until I send for you again." He bowed and walked away, back towards his horse, leaving her staring after him.
Ygraine did not sleep well that night, because the word she took back to the women's tent regarding their impending move northward to Camulod set off a storm of fearful speculation among them that not even her authority could have quelled, and it did not die down until long after the lights had been lit and supper had been brought to them.
What would the Cambrian King's reaction be when he discovered how he had been duped? Ygraine told them of his promise, but surely, if he was the ogre he was said to be, his anger would be boundless and unrestrained. Would any of their lives be safe from his fury? They began to whisper stories and dimly remembered rumours of the savagery of the Camulodian raiders who had first penetrated Cornwall several years earlier, and the atrocities they had reportedly committed against peaceful Cornish farmers and residents, and there was little sleep in the command tent that night.
There was little sleep in Uther's tent, either, for the King lay awake for hours, fretting in spite of his own admonitions to himself. It had been important to him that day, far more important than he had known at the time, to assure Ygraine of his good intentions and to dispel the image of the fearsome villain that Gulrhys Lot had hung about his neck. He tossed and turned incessantly, fighting that lifelong war within himself, the struggle between who and what he was and who and what he ought to be, brandishing a torch against the darkness he felt inside, trying to banish the ogre that raged inside him. He had seen fear in her eyes. And in the darkness of his tent he recalled, though he tried not
to, the fears of his mother, who would not bear another child lest it be branded with the hatreds of the Pendragon clan. And so he lay awake until the morning light crept in to chase the shadows away.
Chapter TWENTY-SEVEN
Come morning, the guards were everywhere, under the unsmiling eye of the surly one called Nemo, shepherding the women as they gathered up all their belongings and made shift to decamp northward. Bemused, Ygraine watched all of their preparations, amazed at how, after mere days in strictly confined seclusion, such a small number of women could have gathered and dispersed so great an array of clothing and belongings. After little more than an hour of chaos, however, everything had been gathered up and packed, and a stream of troopers had carried the cases from the enormous command tent to the equally gigantic commissary wagon that had been placed at the disposal of the women for their journey.
Six matched horses, all of them larger than any horse Ygraine had ever seen before, were tethered in the traces of the huge wagon, which sat upon shaped layers of leafed, iron springs fastened to its axles and rode on four vast wheels bound with broad, thick tires of solid iron greater in width than the entire span of her hand. So massive was this vehicle and so high its bed above the ground that the women had to use a ladder to climb up into it.
Ygraine and Dyllis embraced each of the women in turn as they climbed up into the high wagon, and Ygraine was one of the few who remained dry-eyed at the parting, although she attributed most of the flowing tears to her companions' natural and understandable fears rather than to any grief over leaving her and Dyllis behind. Then, as the teamster gathered the reins together in one huge hand and cracked his whip over the beasts' heads for the first time, she stepped back and away, holding her hand high in a gesture of farewell but watching the straining muscles of the enormous animals as they threw their weight into the traces and pulled the heavy wagon into rumbling motion. She stood there motionless for some time after that, aware of Dyllis's closeness and watching the receding wagon until it turned and was lost to sight behind a bank of trees.
