by Jack Whyte
The cheers of the onlookers were deafening now as Uther's troops approached the gates, and we withdrew to the reviewing rostrum to allow them room to assemble in the courtyard. Eventually, they were all ranged before us and silence fell at a blast from the trumpets.
Uther drew himself erect and saluted my father formally. "General, Hail! I have the honour to report the successful completion of this expedition. We bring reports of victory' against the enemies of the Colony, and we bring also ambassadors"—there was the merest trace of irony in Uther's tone—"from Lot of Cornwall, whose representations will be made to you and to our Council at the time of your choosing. In the meantime, I have only to report that an additional thirty men are left behind us at the borders of our lands, receiving medical aid from our physician there and awaiting wheeled transport back to Camulod."
My father nodded formally on hearing this and ran his eye appreciatively over the newly returned men, ignoring the "ambassadors" completely for the time being, until he could form a clearer idea of their purposes.
"Soldiers of Camulod!" His voice was not raised particularly high, but it carried clearly across the courtyard. "Welcome to your home. You have done well. Each of you will have forty-eight hours relieved of duty."
Uther saluted again on behalf of his men. "Our thanks, General. Permission to dismiss?"
"Granted."
Uther signalled to his senior centurion, and the ranks wheeled and filed out of the courtyard, heading for the stables, leaving only Uther and Lot's "ambassadors" still before us. The onlookers, for the most part family and friends of the returned troops, left with them, following them to the stables to await their men's release. Uther flicked a glance sideways at his ambassadors and swung himself out of his saddle to the ground, crossing towards me with his arms flung wide, his great grin threatening to split his face in two.
"Cay, you whoreson! We haven't been drunk together in years, it seems to me!" His arms closed around me in a bone-crushing hug and I could not help but respond in kind to his warmth and obvious pleasure in seeing me. He stank of sweat, his own and his horse's, even though he was clean shaved and recently washed. I hugged him back, relieved to discover that my own pleasure was utterly genuine.
"You stink!" I said. "Even worse than I remember. Welcome home. We were beginning to think, from your silence, that you had met your inevitable end at the hands of some jealous husband or lover. But I'd forgotten how, smelling like that, it would be impossible for you to get near a woman."
"You ought to know better than to worry about me, Cay. I'm too fast to catch, too dangerous to fight, and too good for any woman to complain of me to any lover! I am unkillable! Uncle Picus!" He released me and threw his arms around my father* and I could detect no reservation in the affection with which my father greeted him. I looked around me for young Donuil, but he was nowhere to be seen, so I gave my attention to the four strangers, who remained mounted and looked around dispassionately at their first view of the interior of Camulod. Two of them were servitors, as I had thought. The other two were clearly of high station. All four rode bareback. I sized up the two spokesmen, neither of whom seemed aware of my scrutiny.
Both of them were of a kind, black-haired and swarthy- skinned, and their clothing had much in common with the dress of other Celtic peoples I knew, although those men of Cornwall claimed lineage from the tribe that Caesar's men had called the Ordoviceii. They seemed to be of a height, too, except that the one closer to me seemed somehow disproportionate. This puzzled me for a moment and I looked for an explanation, and found one. Their horses were of different sizes. The closer man rode a far smaller horse than his companion, and yet his head was on a level with the other's. I realized that he had an inordinately long spine, and saw that his legs were short and squat. His face was long and bony, and his eyes were deep set and far too close together for the width of his face. His mouth was hidden from my eyes by a long, drooping moustache. He was narrow of shoulder and his long, oiled hair curled down between his shoulder-blades. I took an instant dislike to him and turned my attention to his companion.
There was nothing unusual about this fellow except his eyes, and they were extremely unusual, being bulbous and of different colours. His right eye was so dark brown that it was almost black, the iris barely discernible. His left eye, however, was a brilliant and startling blue. It was a face to frighten children, for it looked as though his skull had been formed without eye sockets, and the eyes had been affixed to the front of his face later, so that they bulged hideously. I wondered what men called him behind his back, for his clothes were rich enough to ensure that very few would dare demean him to his face.
My father turned towards Uther. "Commander Uther! A word with you." There was nothing in the tone of his voice to indicate any kind of discomfort or impatience. Uther left Titus and Flavius and made his way across to us.
"Uncle? What are you two hatching?"
"These men, Uther. Why are they here? Are they on an embassage or are they prisoners? It might be a good idea if you were to share your thoughts on the matter with us. Don't look at them."
Uther grinned. "I've no intention of looking at them, Uncle. They approached my camp one night, claiming the protection of the Christian Church, and requested that I escort them here to you to discuss matters of great import— equal import to the master of Camulod and the master of Cornwall."
"What is this weighty matter?"
"I've no idea, but they had a bishop with them who begged me with terror in his eyes to accede to their requests, although there was more of demand than request in them. My first thought was to send them packing, minus their clothes and servants, but there was something about that bishop's terror that changed my mind."
"Priests again! Where is the bishop now?"
"He returned to the fort. I had a strong feeling he would rather have stayed with us, but he was under some kind of constraint."
"He went back alone?"
"Aye, and unwillingly, I thought."
My father raised an eyebrow at me.
"Cay? what's your reaction?"
"It sounds...interesting. When do you expect to speak to them?"
"Uther? What do you think?"
"I wouldn't recognize their damned existence at all if it were left to me, but I suppose you ought to receive them tomorrow, or the day after."
"Not tonight?"
"Absolutely not, Uncle. They're Lot's men and Lot is an evil and vicious whoreson. Let them cool their heels for a few days. It will do no harm. Receive them, quarter them, feed them and let them wait."
I was suddenly acutely uncomfortable. "No," I said. "Wait a moment. There's something out of kilter here, something I don't like." They both looked at me questioningly and I shook my head. "It doesn't make sense. Lot may be everything you say he is, Cousin, but he's also bold, and he's cunning. He must have some plan in mind to send these people here, and whatever they are in truth, I'll wager they are far from ambassadors. They could be spies, but to what purpose?" A sudden, errant thought clicked into place. "Time!" I said. "He might be trying to buy time." They frowned at me in puzzlement, clearly not understanding. I could only shake my head. "I don't know why, but the idea simply occurred to me that we might be doing exactly what he wants if we keep these men waiting."
"You might be right, at that, Cousin Longhead." Uther was still frowning, but more thoughtfully now. "But even if you are, we'll achieve nothing by meeting with them tonight. I won't be of any use to you, that much I can warrant. I'm standing here and talking, but I am dead on my feet, and yet I want to be there to hear what they have to say."
"So be it." My father had made his decision. "We will talk with them in the morning. For now we'll leave them here in your care and we two will take no heed of them. See to their quartering yourself, Uther, but then come to my quarters before you do anything else. Cay and I will be waiting for you." He clapped Uther on the shoulder and pushed me forward with his other arm, and we walked away together, lea
ving Uther with his guests.
We headed directly for my father's quarters, and as we approached the main door of the building in which he was housed, I saw young Donuil trying to attract my attention. My father saw him, too, and left no doubt in my mind as to how he felt. "Now, by the Cross of Christ, here comes your tame heathen. Get rid of him, Cay. We have more important things to do than waste time with him!"
I stopped and Donuil hurried towards me, nodding uncertainly to my father who strode on without acknowledgement. I held up my hand to stem the young man's words before he could utter them. "Donuil, I have no time to talk to you now. My father has called me into conference and has no time to waste."
"But—"
"No buts, Donuil! I am commanded, and if you are to work with me, you'll have to learn what that means. I'll seek you out as soon as I am free, I promise. For now, however, I must go." I walked on and he stepped aside with a crestfallen, worried look.
As I entered my father's quarters, I met one of the troopers hurrying out. I was still looking over my shoulder at him as I stepped into the room.
"I sent him for wine. Uther will have a thirst on him, I suspect, and talking is dry work."
"Aye. So is listening. You look worried, Father. What do you suspect?"
He had removed his cloak and helmet and now he shrugged out of his swordbelt and sprawled in a comfortable chair. "Sit down. I don't know why, but I don't like this. Not one little bit of it. I want to question Uther more closely on the circumstances of this 'request' from the bishop. Lot is an animal and a cunning one. This thing stinks of some pending perfidy."
I had been removing my own outer garments and now I settled into a chair across from him.
"I've been thinking," I said, straightening my tunic beneath me. "Uther said the bishop went back to the fort. That must mean that Uther was encamped close by, perhaps in front of its very gates. That would mean he had been able, with only five hundred men, of whom he lost almost a hundred, to drive Lot's entire army within the gates."
"You're guessing, lad." My father's voice was sceptical. "I can't see any way that Uther could defeat Lot's army with only five hundred men. But you're right about one thing. It seems strange that he could be that close to Lot's stronghold and still feel safe enough to make a camp."
As he finished speaking, Uther came in, unfastening his cloak, closely followed by the trooper bearing a tray with a flagon and cups. "Ah! Mother's milk!" he said, eyeing the jug. "Pour me a large one, trooper. I have half the dust of the south-west on the roof of my mouth." The soldier poured and passed the cups around, leaving as we drank to the safe return of the hero. Uther drained his cup and refilled it before perching comfortably on the table's edge. "God! That tastes good! Uncle Picus, you're obviously waiting to hear something. What is it?"
"The news of your campaign."
"I told you. We were victorious."
"You lost a hundred men."
Uther's face grew serious. "Aye. I lost a hundred. Thirty will have a chance to ride again, but the other seventy are gone."
"How?"
"Mainly in one bad trap, along the coast of Cornwall."
"What happened?"
"I learned an expensive lesson. We rode into a trap in broad daylight, and were cut down."
"Tell me."
Uther heaved a sigh. "I've never seen the like of it," he said. "We had not sighted the enemy in three days, but we were following their trail, which was plain to see. We had come on the scene of a skirmish. There must have been sixty corpses, obviously killed in battle, and a group of ten who had been executed. They were all stripped of clothes and weapons."
"Who were they? Have you any idea?"
Uther shook his head. "None at all. I only know they weren't mine. Anyway, the tracks leading away from the spot were plain to see, so we followed them."
"For three days?"
"That's right."
"And you saw nothing of the enemy?"
"We didn't even know if this was the enemy. Not Lot's men, at least, although anyone we met there would be an enemy."
"Wait a moment. What about the party you rode out to meet? The ones who overran our outpost?"
"Saw neither hide nor hair of them. We found signs of their passage, headed away from here to the south-west, and we followed them, but we lost the trail as soon as we hit hard ground. After that, we were searching for shadows."
"You saw no one at all?"
"That's right, Uncle. Not a soul. The land was empty."
"Until you found these corpses?" Uther nodded solemnly. "And after that you followed more tracks for three days until you rode into a trap." Another nod. "Didn't you have scouts out?" Uther merely raised an eyebrow at that, not even deigning to answer the question. "Well? Did you have scouts out?"
"Of course we did."
"Then how in the name of Christ's Cross could you ride into a trap?"
"Without the slightest difficulty, Uncle. Our scouts rode right through it without even suspecting its existence and I followed them in a similar frame of mind."
My father snorted. "I suppose you will tell us about it?" His heavy sarcasm was completely lost on Uther.
"Certainly, if you'll allow me to." I ducked my head to hide an involuntary smile. I would not have dared to tweak my father's nose in such a fashion. Uther, however, went on imperturbably. "We came to the coast, eventually. It is very rocky in those parts, and the tracks we were following kept close to the top of the cliffs. We had the cliffs and the sea on our right, and the land rose slowly and gradually on our left. There were no trees to speak of, and our scouts kept high on the hills, where they could see for miles. I had them ranging for three miles ahead of us and three out on our left flank. There was nothing, no one. And then the enemy hit us." He paused and we were content to let him take his time. "We had been on rolling terrain for more than a day—unchanging, open grassland along the top of the cliffs. The land higher up was knee-deep in gorse and bracken—nothing tall enough to hide even a man lying down, but thorny and painful enough to make our horses' lives miserable, so we kept below it, on the open grass."
"And that's where they hit you from!" My father could stand it no longer. "They took you from the gorse!"
Uther narrowed his eyes at him and pursed his lips, saying nothing for several moments. Then, "No, Uncle, I told you it wasn't thick enough or tall enough to hide even a prostrate man. They took us from die grass. From out of the ground!"
"That's impossible! Am I to believe in magic, now?"
"That's exactly what I wondered when I saw them appear. I thought, 'That's impossible!' and then I thought, 'It's magic.* Let me admit, it put the fear of death into me in more ways than one. But it wasn't impossible, and it wasn't magic. It was brilliant strategy. And I remembered that you had used it yourself, years ago.
"We were down in a dip—a hollow between two headlands, that must have been half a mile from crest to crest. I discovered later that some upheaval in the past—God knows how long ago—had torn a great crack in the earth that stretched for almost the full half-mile. It was as though the whole cliff there had leaned sideways, towards the sea. In some spots the crack dropped seemingly for miles, but for most of the way it was filled with rubble, and even had grass growing on the bottom.
"The thing—this ambush—had been long in the planning. The gorse and bracken grew down to the upper edge of the crack, but the entire length of the chasm was completely covered by a long, narrow, tightly meshed net on top of which they had spread turf mid sunk gorse and bracken plants. Then they merely climbed down beneath their net, completely hidden, and waited for us to come to them."
My father's face was grim. "How many of them were there?"
"More than two hundred."
"How did they fight?"
"Effectively, and from a distance. They were all bowmen."
"What did you do?"
"What could I do? After the initial surprise I led a charge up the hill."
"And?"
"They broke and ran. To left and right. In alternating squads, each half laying down fire to cover the others in withdrawal. They were deadly. We were lucky we lost as few as we did."
"You mean they beat you completely? How many of them did you get?"
"Four."
"Four! Out of two hundred?"
"Yes, Uncle. I had other things to occupy me and I decided to call off the chase."
"Other things? What other things?"
"The screams of my men and horses."
There was silence for a few moments.
"Uther, you are not making sense. What screams? Why should screams be of any import in the pursuit of a fleeing enemy?"
Uther leaned over and refilled his cup, his face expressionless. When he had finished, he took a sip and then resettled himself on the table's edge, where he remained, silent for a while, gazing into his cup. Finally he spoke, and his words chilled us. "Uncle Picus, every man, and every horse, who was as much as scratched by one of those arrows, died screaming as though being burned alive. They died in mortal agony, their muscles locked in spasm. There were no exceptions."
"Good God!" This was my father. I could find no words.
Uther continued speaking. "I knew quickly that there was something wrong with what was happening. There are always screams in battle, particularly when horses are injured, but there was an aura of dementia about the tenor and the volume of this screaming. So even at the charge, I looked to see the cause, and there was a trooper, a stolid man I have known for years, screaming like a ravished girl and shaking a bleeding hand as though trying to tear it off his arm. And beside him, kicking and screaming on the ground, lay another, with an arrow clean through the fleshy part of his upper arm. It was a flesh wound. There was no cause for reactions such as I was seeing. Only a very few men lay dead, Uncle, but the others were all going mad. I had my trumpeter sound the recall, but even after we had stopped the hunt, the whoresons kept on firing as they ran, and every time an arrow found a mark, the screaming grew." He shook his head in disgust. "I lost sixty-three men and seventy-two horses. All dead. All wounds were fatal. No one recovered. That's why I say we were lucky to have lost no more. Even after I had called off the pursuit, they could have returned to the slaughter."