by Jack Whyte
Over by the King's Tent, she knew, guards would be loading Morgas and the other women, along with their possessions, into the cart. Ygraine wished she had been able to speak with her before their separation, but she had had no opportunity even to approach the other woman since learning that they were to be moved. She had, however, sent one of the others, Fyrgas, as her messenger, with advice and instructions for Morgas on how to behave in her role as Queen.
Shaking her head slightly at the thought that the headstrong Morgas was now beyond her control, Ygraine hooked her arm through Dyllis's and began to walk back towards the now empty command tent. Nemo, the captain of the guard, stood waiting for them beside two troopers, whose arms were filled with the few possessions she and Dyllis had retained. As soon as the women came into view. Nemo turned quickly and led the two men away, plainly expecting her to follow.
Ygraine fell into step behind them, moving at her own pace. But when she saw where they were leading her, she stopped dead in her tracks. Nemo turned and came back to where she stood, staring, then took her none too gently by the upper arm and propelled her firmly the rest of the way to the King's Tent. The two tall, helmeted and uniformly cloaked and armoured guards who flanked the entrance paid her not the slightest glance of interest or attention as Nemo pushed her roughly between them and through the doorway.
"Wait here." She was pushed again, this time towards a chair, and she sat obediently, sensing that she would end up tied to it if she offered any resistance. Nemo gazed at her for a moment with eyes so empty that the sight of them made her suppress a shudder, then turned away to beckon to the two men carrying their belongings. They each moved directly into one of the two sleeping cubicles and laid down their burdens, then came out and saluted Nemo, who waved them away. Turning back to the women. Nemo ignored Dyllis and swept Ygraine from head to toe with a look that was neither interested nor curious.
"Wait here. Don't move." Nemo marched out of the tent, leaving them alone again.
Ygraine turned to Dyllis and asked her to go into her sleeping cubicle so that she could be alone. With her companion gone, Ygraine sat quietly for a while, adjusting to her new situation, letting her eyes drift around the tent with its sparse furnishings.
It was exactly as she had seen it on her earlier visits to Morgas: bare, functional and showing no sign at all of human occupancy. The poles of the frame for holding armour were bare; the footlockers were closed. She crossed to the washstand and lifted the jug, noting that the surface beneath it was dry.
"It's empty."
The words came from close behind her and she almost dropped the ewer in her shock and surprise. She swung around immediately, anger and resentment welling up in her, only to discover that the Cambrian had not, as she had assumed, crept up on her while her back was turned. He stood framed in the tent's entrance, balancing his weight lazily on one straight leg, with the other knee bent and one hand gripping the hanging flap. The sun at his back turned him into a looming silhouette.
"Shall I send for water for you, lady?" Now she saw that he was almost smiling.
"No." She shook her head and crossed quickly back to her chair. "Do you intend to keep me here now, a prisoner like—?"
"Queen Ygraine?" He shrugged his shoulders and moved into the tent. "What other choice have I? You can hardly remain all alone in the big tent, can you?" He glanced around him. "You are alone, though. Where is the other woman, Dyllis?"
"She is here, behind the partition."
He nodded. "Good. So you will stay here. You will be comfortable, and it should not be for long."
"Too long, I think. This is your tent. Where will you be sleeping?"
He raised a mocking eyebrow. "As you say, lady, it is my tent. I had thought to place my cot in here in the front. Would you rather have me sleep outside upon the ground?"
"Lacking another alternative, yes, I would. But I would have thought you might sleep in the tent that you were using yesterday."
"That tent belongs to my subordinate commander, Huw Strong- arm. He sleeps there."
Ygraine tossed her head. "There should be ample room for both of you. Besides, I venture to think he might be safer sharing a tent with you than any woman—or any two women—would be."
"Tut, lady, you have a jagged tongue—" he dipped his head in a gesture of acknowledgment, his lips twisted in a rueful little grin "—but little consideration for junior commanders. I will not dispossess young Huw to please your whim, no matter how well he might adjust to it. That's not my way. But I will do as you request and sleep outside, not on the ground, but on my cot. So you may rest easy."
"Did my lady the Queen rest easy here?"
Uther made a face and spread his hands in a shrug. "She did not suffer, to my knowledge. Did she complain to you?"
When Ygraine made no reply, Uther looked around him again and raised his voice slightly. "Lady Dyllis?"
Dyllis poked her head out from behind the partition. "Yes?"
"Look to your lady here." He turned back to Ygraine, smiling. "I must leave for a day or two to scout out the lie of the land and make sure there are no unsuspected threats out there, but I shall return. In the meantime, Nemo will look after you and provide you with anything you require."
He saluted quickly and walked out, leaving Ygraine to turn to Dyllis, open-mouthed.
'"Look to your lady,' is that what he said?" Dyllis nodded, unable to respond, and Ygraine shook her head in a frowning, troubled negative. "We must have misunderstood him."
Uther was as good as his word and returned two days later to find Ygraine and Dyllis sitting outside in the spring sunlight, their guards close by, deeply involved in repairing some of their outer clothing that was the worse for wear. He paid no attention to what they were doing and insisted that they come into the tent with him immediately. Discovering that there was no place to sit, he strode back outside to fetch the chairs they had been using, and when they were seated, he picked up one of the two low footlockers set against the partition and placed it atop the other, then sat on both.
"Have you been well treated while I was away?" They acknowledged that they had and he nodded, evidently having expected nothing less. "Well, it's time I let you in on more of the details of your situation. You should know now that when I first captured you, I sent off envoys to Gulrhys Lot with the authority to discuss terms for your release."
"And . . . ?"
He shrugged. "And I thought at that time that if all went well. I might expect to hear something from them within two weeks . . . by today or tomorrow at the latest."
"And . . . ?" This time he made no response, merely raising an eyebrow, and Ygraine continued. "What if all did not go well? What if Lot has killed your envoys or holds them prisoner? He is capable of that. He has his mercenaries, and he has no fear of consequences."
"Aye, I have no doubt he's capable of it. But would he do such a thing in this instance, d'you think, knowing that his Queen and her women would bear the brunt of such behaviour? Is he that low?"
Ygraine allowed her face to betray nothing. Instead, she answered him in measured, level tones. "He is a man and a King. You are a man and a King. Ask yourself that question, therefore, not me. Would you do such a thing?"
Uther's face grew dark so suddenly that the sight of it chilled her. "No, lady, I would not," he hissed, almost snarling with anger.
He stood up then, sudden and forceful, and moved angrily about the tent, looking at neither woman. He braced himself in the doorway with a white-knuckled grip on the leather flaps and gazed fiercely out into the bright afternoon light. The women looked at each other and exchanged glances of baffled wonderment, but neither made any attempt to speak. Finally Uther sighed, deep and hard, and turned back to face them, looking at Ygraine.
"I would never consider such a thing, lady. But Gulrhys Lot did. He killed my messengers, all of them, when they were guarded by his oath of protection and safe passage. And for that, I promise you, I will have his foul guts stretched a
nd dried to string my men's longbows. You must be fell proud of your husband, lady."
"What?" Ygraine felt the blood drain from her face. "What did you say?"
Uther looked at her and sucked in a mighty breath, then held it long before he let it go again. "I said 'your husband,' Gulrhys Lot, the man to whom you stand condemned to wife—"
He stopped abruptly as she jumped to her feet, the colour draining from her face, and his scowl deepened as he saw what he took to be fear filling her wide eyes.
"What?" he growled, exasperated. "Are you to scream now? Think you I'm going to flog you for being your husband's wife? You scoffed when Huw Strongarm told you I do not war on women, but he spoke the truth. Gulrhys Lot does enough of that for both of us. It is his nature, part of what sets him apart from ordinary, human folk. I hold no blame over you for the actions of that man, and none, either, for having wedded him. I know your story, and it leaves you blameless."
She took one hand in the other and squeezed with all her strength, digging her nails into the side of her palm and forcing herself to be calm and to think clearly. He knew her, there was no avoiding or gainsaying that. . . but that was unimportant. What was important was . . . She swallowed hard, fighting down panic. What was important was that Lot had killed his messengers, slaughtered them under promise of safe conduct.
"When did you discover this . . . treachery?"
"Several days ago, lady. I heard the tidings several days ago."
"And why have you said nothing until now? Why this mummery of sending me with messages to Lot? You knew then that would be worse than useless."
"Aye, lady, I did."
"And did you know then who I am?"
"Aye, that, too."
"And when did you discover that?"
"The first time I set eyes on you by the roadside, after the ambush in which Huw Strongarm captured you and your train."
"Then what of Morgas, who was supposed to be the Queen? Why did you permit that pretence?"
"Because it suited my purpose. It did me no harm to have you think your secret was secure."
"But you were bedding her!"
He shrugged. "I was bedding a woman, not a Queen. That was no hardship, for her or for me. We both enjoyed it, I think."
"But. . . but then, why send her away and keep me here ?"
"Because I had to separate you from the rest of the women. Once I heard that Lot had scorned his chance to gain you back, they became an encumbrance, and you took on a new importance."
She cocked her head to one side. "Even though you knew he would not treat for me?"
"Most particularly so."
Ygraine shook her head in denial. "You say you knew me when you first set eyes on me, but that is simply not possible, it means that you must have seen me somewhere before. But I have never been beyond Cornwall since first I set foot in Britain."
He shook his head. "I did not say I had seen you before. I simply recognized you for who you are. That's why I mentioned Deirdre of the Violet Eyes."
So astounded was she at hearing him use the name a second time that she could not even think to protest. "Explain that." she whispered.
He glanced quickly from her to Dyllis and then back to Ygraine.
"Deirdre was your sister, who suffered a strange childhood illness and died many years ago, is that not correct?"
She nodded, too stunned to speak.
"Aye, well, she did not die when your family thought she had. She survived for many years, though she was deaf and mute, and she travelled eventually to Britain, where she met and wed my beloved cousin, Merlyn Britannicus of Camulod. He and I found her alone and lost one day in the woods while we were on patrol—actually, I found her, or Nemo did, to be strictly truthful—and we took her back with us to Camulod. She had your face, unmistakably."
"She had my face . . ."
"Aye, she did. She is dead now, killed, murdered, almost a year ago, and we never discovered who did it. She died carrying my cousin Merlyn's child."
"But—"Ygraine looked away, trying to find words. Her head was reeling, her shock overwhelming her ability to deal with all the information that had come at her so swiftly. She shook her head, hard, and forced herself to think clearly, grasping at the one incongruous though! that had occurred to her in listening to what he had said. "But wait. . . she was deaf and mute from childhood. Her world was one of silence. How, then, could she have told you who she was?"
"She did not tell us. It was your brother Donuil who told Merlyn her real name, when the two, brother and sister, met again in Camulod—Lady!"
Strange noises had been buzzing in Ygraine's head for what seemed to be a long time, but when she heard her brother's name on this man's lips, suddenly everything about her began to spin. And then she felt as though she were flying through the air, weightless and without substance, with only a roaring in her ears, filling her head.
With a red haze fading quickly from in front of her eyes, she regained her senses moments later to find Uther Pendragon's face close to her own, his brows knitted in a ferocious scowl, while from above his shoulder Dyllis peered down at her, wide-eyed. Somewhat frantically, Ygraine struggled to sit upright, realizing only as she did so that the man's arm was completely encircling her, supporting her weight as though he had been carrying her. She realized then that she had fainted, and that he must have caught her as she fell, then borne her to the cot on which she now reclined with his support. Her heart fluttering, close to the edge of panic, she sat bolt upright and swung her feet around and down until they were solidly on the ground, pushing him away from her as she did so, protesting that she was perfectly well and required no assistance.
Uther stood upright immediately and took a long pace backwards, and she concentrated hard upon not looking at him as she brought herself back to order and decorum. Finally, when she felt that she was in command of herself again, she nodded once, curtly, in tacit acknowledgment of his assistance and courtesy.
"Lady, I said too much, too soon. You will have much to think about now. I will leave you to the questions that must be bubbling in your mind, and I will come back later. At least then I might be able to answer some of your questions. When I do come back, let there be no more talk between us two of Gulrhys Lot. His crime is committed, his foulness demonstrated, and neither you nor I can hold the other one responsible for his degeneracy. So let his name lie cursed and unspoken from this time between you and me." He raised his clenched fist to his breast in salute, then bowed stiffly from the waist and turned. Just before he left, however, he hesitated and half turned back to speak over his shoulder. "Forgive me, lady, if my bluntness has angered you. I had not intended saying all I said, and I had not considered how it might offend you to learn of it so suddenly and unexpectedly. In truth, I did not think at all . . . So now I, too, must spend some time alone, considering all the many complex strangenesses that are involved in this."
They watched him leave the tent, dipping his head as he passed through the doorway, and then Dyllis turned, her eyes filled with wonder, and opened her mouth to speak, but Ygraine cut her short.
"Leave me alone now, Dyllis, if you would. Go you and find you something to keep you occupied. As our jailer said, I have many questions calling to be answered, and I don't even know how to ask most of them. I have to think, and the last thing I need is to have you hovering there, gazing at me wide-eyed."
As soon as the other woman had gone, Ygraine adjusted her girdle until it was slack, arranged her gown loosely about her for comfort and lay down on her cot, closing her eyes against the light. Her mind was buzzing with long-repressed memories of her childhood in Eire and the swarm of siblings and cousins and relatives among whom she had grown up. Some of their names and faces had been lost to her for years. Even Deirdre, her younger sister, whose name she had borrowed in her vain attempt to deceive the Cambrian, had remained walled up until now in some vault in her memory; she had chosen the name simply because it was one she thought to be safe and beyond
any random association with her own. Now, however, she allowed her thoughts to drift to the terror she and all her kin had felt when the child had suffered for so long and then survived the terrifying illness that had stricken her. an illness that resembled no other sickness known to anyone, not even the eldest and most learned Druids in her father's lands.
Deirdre had clung stubbornly to life and in the end had survived, but at a terrible cost. The magnificent violet eyes that had given her her name had been faded and permanently dimmed, leached of their colour in some frightening manner by the severity of the fevers that had consumed her tiny body, so that they were pale grey forever after. Even her rich, chestnut hair had lost its lustrous colour. She had lost her voice, too, in that illness, and her hearing, and thinking back on it again, Ygraine shuddered afresh, thinking it was no wonder that the people of her father's kingdom had eyed the child uneasily thereafter and whispered among themselves of witchcraft and the interference of the dark gods of night and death.
Several years after that illness, little Deirdre fell ill again, and this time she wandered away unnoticed from their father's encampment one night in the grip of a high fever and was never seen again. Everyone mourned her then as dead, for it had been inconceivable that the child—she was a mere twelve years old, even then -might survive a second time, unable to hear or speak or to fend for herself in the wild forest that surrounded their home.
And now this upstart Cambrian Outlander brought word that Deirdre had not only survived but had married his cousin, Merlyn Britannicus of Camulod. It was inconceivable! For years now, since the days before she had come to Britain to be bride to Gulrhys Lot, she had been imbued with the tales of Uther Pendragon's savagery, his sullen, violent malevolence, and his furious lusts for blood and conquest. And hand in glove with those tales, she had heard much about the cowardly behaviour of his cousin, Merlyn of Camulod, a bird of the same plumage, fed on the same seeds of depravity since childhood, but less brave, although no less malicious, than his kinsman. And now she was being asked to believe that her own sister had married this same Merlyn Britannicus, and that her brother Donuil also lived in Camulod on friendly terms with these people? It was a ridiculous thing to suggest.
