Uther cc-7

by Jack Whyte

  Uther rose to his feet, grinning openly now, his eyes filled with admiration and wry amusement, and he bowed deeply to her, his clenched fist at his breast in a salute.

  "Lady," he said, "I wish you may sleep well and thoughtfully. I will come by in the morning." He turned then to Dyllis, bowing to her, too. "And you. Lady Dyllis. Sleep well."

  When he had gone, Ygraine sat straight upright and looked intently at Dyllis.

  "It will be dark soon, and we have changed sides, and I have renounced an unfit husband. Are you hungry, child? I could eat King Uther's large horse."

  Chapter TWENTY-EIGHT

  The following morning they were awakened by the noise of great comings and goings beyond the walls of their tent. It was evident that large numbers of men were either arriving at camp or leaving it, but try as they would, they could see nothing beyond the looming shoulders of the guards who flanked the entrance to their tent and who would not deign answer their questions. Uther arrived soon after that, however, asking if they were astir, and although they assured him that they were, they refused him entry, holding him at bay until they had had time to perform their morning ablutions and make themselves fit to be seen.

  The King finally strode into their tent bare-headed and smiling, followed by a trooper carrying a wooden bucket that was covered with a length of cloth. He loosened the ornate clasp fastening his great war cloak and removed the garment, folding it carelessly before dropping it on the floor of the tent, and then he moved to take the bucket from the trooper, dismissing the man with a nod of thanks. He carried the bucket across the tent and busied himself at the table in the corner, keeping his back to the two women to mask what he was doing.

  Ygraine watched him, noticing the way his hair curled on the nape of his neck and how his great, wide shoulders stretched the fabric of his white woollen tunic. This was the first time, she realized, that she had seen this man completely unarmoured, and a little voice within her head whispered that it was, in fact, the first time she had seen this man at ease in her company. There was little of the warrior King about Uther Pendragon this morning, apart from his massive Celtic tore, the collar of solid, hand-worked gold that circled the thick column of his neck. Although she had never seen a living Roman, she had an image in her mind of what they must look like, and what she saw in Uther suited that image. He wore a simple but rich tunic of heavy, snow- white wool, with a square-cut neck and elbow-length sleeves, and the edges—bottom hem, neck line and cuffs—were all worked with a Greek key design in blood red. A wide leather belt cinched the tunic at his waist and held a short, sheathed dagger, his only weapon, and under the tunic he wore some kind of tight-fitting trousers of the same white wool that encased his legs to just above the ankle, where they were tied with plaited woollen strings. On his feet, he wore thick, knitted socks that she could see between the broad straps of his heavy sandalled boots, military boots, with massive soles of layered leather studded with hobnails that left dents in the ground as he walked.

  She lowered her eyes quickly when he finally turned around, holding two earthenware cups, and offered one to each of them. Ygraine looked into the bowl of her cup, which was startlingly cold, and saw that the liquid inside looked black and viscous.

  "What is it?"

  Uther smiled. He had picked up a cup for himself and now held it up at eye level. "Taste it and see." He sipped his own, delicately for such a large man, and his smile returned, wider than before. "Go on, try it."

  Ygraine sipped, and Dyllis followed her example, and then both women were gazing at him, delighted. Dyllis identified the drink first.

  "Brambles! It's bramble juice."

  "Aye, it is, but there's more . . . there's honey in it, too," Ygraine added.

  Uther's smile was enormous now. "Right, both of you, bramble juice and honey and a little water. Just enough to dilute the juice and the honey very slightly."

  "But how can it be so cold ?"

  "A trick we learned from the Romans, lady. We brought it down from Cambria, packed in snow and ice from our Cambrian mountains."

  "Snow? But it is almost high summer—"

  "Aye, it is, but there are hills in Cambria to the north of our territories where the snow remains on the hilltops all the year round. We do not go there often, but when we do have need to go, we always take the time to cut large blocks of ice and transport them home to Tir Manha—my home base—in wagons that we take with us for that purpose. We wrap up the individual blocks in straw, then stack them together and cover them tightly. That keeps them cold and stops them from melting too quickly. The Romans also taught us that chipped ice, mixed with sawdust and some ordinary salt, grows somehow even colder, and liquids packed in such a mixture will stay cold for great lengths of time, so be it they are kept sealed and the vessels holding them intact."

  He sipped again before continuing. "You heard the commotion this morning? Well, my main army—my infantry—has arrived from Cambria. They brought this with them in their commissary train, and I thought you might enjoy some of it. We rarely have such luxuries, and there is little of it, but enough, I thought, to be shared with you. Now, may we sit?"

  A short time later, when he had finished his drink, he placed the empty cup on the floor by his feet.

  "Last night you asked for time to think about a stratagem that might save Herliss's life and serve my ends as well. It sounds impossible to me, and I fail to see why I should even care, but I stand prepared to be amazed. Are you ready to share it with me?"

  Ygraine nodded and came straight to the point that had been circling in her brain all night. "He must escape. Herliss must escape."

  "Escape . . . How, and to what, lady? Lot will have him hanged as soon as he sees him, if Herliss survives long enough to be taken back that far. Don't forget he has already been outlawed and named a traitor. Anyone who sees him now is free to strike him down on sight."

  "That will not happen, not if he is with me and my guards. No one would dare approach us then, and Lot would be powerless to act against us, if we were to win home free."

  "Ah! You are to escape, then, too, and your Erse bodyguard. Forgive me, I missed seeing that." Uther covered the entire lower part of his face with his hand, but he could not conceal the mirth in his dancing eyes.

  Ygraine ignored his sarcastic tone completely. She frowned. "You disbelieve me?"

  "No, no, lady, truly, I believe you." He waved his hand in denial. "I believe you absolutely . . ." He paused, struggling against his own amusement. "What. . . forgive me . . . what I fail to understand, though, is how you can expect me to accept what you are saying, because if I understand you correctly, you are suggesting that I should simply permit you and all your people to ride off from here, unhampered and unharmed."

  "You distrust me, then."

  He blinked once, slowly and deliberately, and then shook his head. "It is not a matter of trust, lady. It is common sense. Why should I do such a thing as to allow you to escape? You are my prisoner. My only hostage. I would be mad to let you simply walk away."

  "Of course you would be, were there no advantage to you in doing so." There was no trace of humour in the Queen's face or bearing.

  "Ah! Then you believe it would be to my advantage to permit this . . . escape?"

  "Of course it would. If, of course, you believe me and trust me."

  "I see. Well, let me think on that for a moment or two . . . you must see that it is a novel adventure for me to consider placing either trust or belief in anyone or anything having anything to do, however remotely, with Lot of Cornwall . . . And what about your women, on the road to Camulod since yesterday? Are they to be abandoned, or are they to escape, too, while on the road?"

  "Yes—"

  "Of course they are. I could see that coming. But how? How are they to escape? And then where will you all go once you have won free? To Eire?"

  "No, I have already said Herliss is too old to leave his homeland. We will return to Lot, wherever he may be now."


  "To Lot? You will return to Lot. Despite everything you said last night about divorcing him?"

  "No, I will return to Lot because of everything I said last night about divorcing him."

  Uther's his eyes flicked from Ygraine to Dyllis and then back again. "Explain that, if you would."

  Ygraine stood up quickly, her face flushed suddenly with anger. "Gods, man! Can you not see? I should not have to explain something so obvious—" She stopped as suddenly as she had begun and stood glaring at him, clenching and unclenching her fists and breathing deeply through pinched nostrils. Then she spun to look at Dyllis, who was staring at her, her eyes wide with awe and something else that might have been consternation. "How many men are guarding this tent right now?" Her back was to Uther, but there was no doubt that she was speaking to him.

  "Two. And their captain, Nemo, is close by."

  "Then will you send them away? Ask them to escort Dyllis while she takes a walk for half an hour. You and I must talk alone."

  Plainly mystified, Uther rose to his feet and crossed to the flap of the tent, where he stuck his head out and ordered one of the guards to bring Nemo to him immediately. Nemo could have been no more than ten paces distant for she was there almost before Uther had swung his head back into the tent, and she stepped directly inside and snapped to attention. Uther kept his gaze steadily on Ygraine as he ordered the captain to take the Lady Dyllis and her two guards and to conduct all three on a long walk that would keep them clear of the tent for at least an hour.

  When they had all gone, he perched himself on top of the two footlockers again and sat gazing at Ygraine, who stared directly back at him, making no attempt to speak. The silence between them stretched and grew until it began to approach the point at which it would become a challenge and a matter of stubbornness, but before it did so, Uther grinned wryly and nodded, as though conceding victory.

  "Well, lady? You wanted to talk . . ."

  "How well do you know my brother, Donuil?"

  "Not well. I barely know him at all. He is my cousin Merlyn's friend."

  "A friend, you say. But is he a true friend? Or is he a coddled favourite, a pampered pet? What are you smiling at? Do you find me amusing?"

  He held up a hand as though to fend her off. "No, lady, I do not, but by the gods you are prickly. What was amusing me was the thought of your enormous brother bowing his head meekly to be petted like a puppy." He shook his head, all sign of humour vanishing. "No, lady, they are friends and I can tell you positively that your brother Donuil must have earned that ranking and the privilege that goes with it. The trust between the two of them is solid and deep- rooted. That I know."

  When Ygraine responded to that, her voice sounded slightly mollified, but she was still plainly unconvinced. "You know, you say. But how much do you know, in truth? How well do you really know this cousin of yours, this Merlyn?"

  Now Uther was sombre. "Better than any other person in the world. We were raised almost as twins. There is no man in the world more dear to me than he is."

  "And he feels the same way towards you?"

  There was no mistaking the pain that underlay the long hesitation that stretched between that question and its answer; she saw it in his eyes and heard it in his voice when he finally responded. "He—he used to . . . It is my hope that he still does."

  "Why would you doubt it?"

  "I . . . I told you yesterday, he is not himself. . ."

  "But there is something else that makes you hesitate . . ."

  He shrugged again, dismissing the thought. "It was long ago, and he suspected me of a misdeed—one that was evil, worthy of punishment . . . But I doubt that I would have judged the event as harshly as Merlyn did. He could be very narrow-minded in his judgments. In my case, I was innocent of the crime. I took more pain from thinking he could believe I might do such a thing than from anything he ever did or said to me concerning it."

  "Very well, then." She sat gazing at him, clearly thinking about what she would say next. "You obviously admire your cousin greatly, so I must ask you this: why does Lot call him a coward?"

  To her astonishment, Uther Pendragon threw back his head and laughed, a great, booming shout of enjoyment. "A coward! Caius Merlyn Britannicus, a coward? Ah, lady. Lot calls Merlyn a coward because he cannot suffer people to suspect the simple truth: that Merlyn Britannicus is everything that Gulrhys Lot can never hope to be. Lot would shit himself with fear if ever he found himself within a mile of coming face to face with Merlyn of Camulod. He hates Merlyn, not simply for being a formidable enemy and an upstanding man, but for being the person that he is. Oh, he fears him, too, but mainly he hates him, because Merlyn stood by and witnessed Lot's first downfall at my hands, when he and I were twelve years old and Lot was fourteen or fifteen, bigger than both of us."

  "What are you talking about? Did you know Lot that long ago?"

  Uther sat straight up and looked away from her as he came to grips with what he had just heard. She watched him closely, seeing the puzzled frown on his brow, and then the way his face lightened as he turned back to her.

  "Yes, my cousin Merlyn and I first met Lot that long ago, and that is what?—twelve years? thirteen? It was no meeting of like minds, I promise you. He came to Camulod with his father, the old Duke Emrys, and he was loathsome from the outset, trying to dominate and bully Merlyn and me. He was not simply nasty, he was . . ." Uther paused, groping for words. "He was intolerably foul: foul-mouthed and foul-natured; loathsome in all he said and did—and then, on top of and in addition to all of that, he was a braggart and a bully. Well, Merlyn and I had never met a bully we couldn't thrash together, so we were not abashed by this lout from Cornwall. But then he insulted my mother, viciously and inexcusably and in such a way that I could not ignore it, and we fought. He left Camulod right after that, as soon as he grew well enough."

  "Did you thrash him that badly?"

  "Thrash him? No, lady, I didn't thrash him. We fought with Roman swords. I stabbed him, but unfortunately for everyone, I didn't do the job properly—we were interrupted and stopped by my father before I could finish it."

  Ygraine's eyes had grown round. "You would have killed him?"

  "I should have killed him. Now there are hundreds dead who might have lived, had I done so." He checked himself, seeing her expression. "What is wrong? Lady?"

  She shook her head, a terse, dismissive little gesture. "Nothing is wrong, I think. But much has been wrong, including my own foolish, willful blindness." Her eyes drifted away from him and she sat staring into the middle distance, looking at nothing and seeing only what was in her mind. After a while, she breathed in deeply through her nostrils and sat up straighten "I have been cursing you and everyone in Camulod for three years now, in utter ignorance that my own brother and sister were living happily there with you and your family while I suffered shame and outrage and indignities here, from my own husband." She paused again, frowning, and then turned her frown on him. "You are . . . you are nothing like the monster I was told you were."

  Uther held her gaze, his features softened now, and let out a small sigh. When he spoke next, his voice was easy and quiet. You said we two needed to talk, and so I sent the guards away with Lady Dyllis. What, then, did you want to talk about?"

  "Just this: Lot will not negotiate to gain me back. He will not, because I mean nothing to him and he has no need of me, so he will count himself fortunate to be thus rid of me, without blame to him. But that also makes me an encumbrance to you—something for which he will be grateful. The only option you can see facing you is to send me back home to my father in Eire in the hope that he will withdraw his support from Lot. Well, that might serve you, but no more than slightly, for my father's few people could hardly be considered a major contribution to Lot's forces. Returning me to Lot, however, is another very real option, one that is potentially invaluable."

  "What? I don't follow you."

  "Then hear me plainly. I would now return to Lot as a willing spy, on
your behalf. In doing so, I could save the life of Herliss—a dear friend for whom I feel responsible—and bring about the downfall of this loathsome man to whom I have been wed. It is a choice easily made, and made already. I see no disloyalty involved in it. In order to command loyalty, one must understand what it is and return it openly in like measure. Gulrhys Lot has never shown a trace of loyalty to anyone that I know of—not to me, not to any of his most faithful followers and most certainly not to any of those over whom he claims kingship. His people live in terror of him and his sick fancies, afraid that some imagined slight of theirs will bring his mercenaries down about their ears, dealing death and destruction to their families, their homes and their few, pathetic possessions."

  She had been almost talking to herself, but now she moved her head and looked into Uther's eyes. "These are not idle fears, you must understand that. Lot and this pestilence he has inspired have blighted all of Cornwall. He has surrounded himself with a living wall of mercenary killers who have no regard for anything or anyone, and whose atrocities do not simply go unpunished, but originate, more often than not, with the man who employs them." Again she paused and looked directly at him, her eyes flashing.

  "You perhaps believe that my conversion to your viewpoint has been too facile. I can do nothing to alter that or influence your thinking. But until yesterday . . . until now, today . . . I have been able to conceive of no way to make things better. Not only am I a woman, weak enough at the best of times, but I am a woman with no vestige of power or influence. I have been a prisoner for two years now, since long before you captured me. My prison was Herliss's White Fort, to which I had been banished by my husband, and until mere days before we moved into your path I was comfortable there, and thankful to be removed from all my consort's evil. In Tir Gwyn, I was able to avoid my own conscience. There I was able to close my eyes willfully to what was going on in this bright and lovely land in which I now live. I was able to pretend, in truth, that I was in no wise associated with the man who called himself my husband." She stopped abruptly, and a single tear broke from her lashes and cascaded down her right cheek. Angrily she dashed it away.