by Jack Whyte
The "messengers from Camulod," as they were being called, had been received courteously and permitted to keep their weapons. Lot had been unable to meet with them immediately upon their arrival, having other duties and responsibilities that demanded his attention, but had invited them to present their case to him later that night at a banquet to be attended by his Chiefs and senior allies.
Lodder had delivered his King's message that night, explaining that the Queen, Ygraine, was Uther's captive, and then going on to outline Uther's terms of ransom, and when he had finished making his presentation, Lot had questioned him closely on the specifics, asking about the Queen and her escort, and about the ambush in which they had been captured. When questioned about the actual details of the skirmish, however, including its location, Lodder demurred, and Lot flew into a short-lived but highly spectacular fury. By the end of it, Lodder and his ten men were dead, hacked to pieces by the other diners.
After the slaughter that he had incited in his own Hall, Lot made a jest of the dead men and their mission, and then confiscated their horses and equipment, appropriating them for his own use. He drank a health to his hapless and unfortunate Queen, publicly swearing to do all In his power to win her back from Uther's clutches, but in his own way, and not at Uther's invitation or upon Uther's terms. His last words on the topic were a scathing and scornful condemnation, delivered in front of all his drunken, bloodstained crew, of what he called the inept and cowardly role played by the Lord Herliss in the loss of the King's wife, and in order to rectify that, he appointed Herliss's son, Lagan Longhead, to lead an expedition immediately to locate and rescue Queen Ygraine and her women. In the doing of that, Lagan was also to rescue and then arrest his father, Herliss, and bring him home to Herliss's own fortress of Tir Gwyn, there to stand trial for traitorous conduct and cowardice. In order to ensure that father and son would both return to Tir Gwyn, Lot then took Lagan's wife and son into what he chose to refer to as "protective custody," although everyone hearing him knew they would be held as prisoner-hostages against Lagan's return.
It had taken Owain four days to piece together the details of what took place that night, for he had had to prise the information with great care from a variety of sources and informants, permitting none of them to see or even suspect that he was being inquisitive. Now, he could report that Lagan Longhead was out scouring the hills to the south and far west of Uther's current position with a large army of mercenaries. He had already been gone for two days by the time Owain got the word, and he had begun his search by striking down into the far southwest corner of Cornwall's territories, since that was the region wherein his father held the largest tracts of land and property.
Uther listened to all of this in silence, although the fury growing in him was plain to be seen in his eyes and on his whitened face and in the spastic clutching of his hands as he held himself otherwise motionless. When Owain had finished and sat staring at him, the King opened his mouth to speak, but then snapped it shut again as though afraid of what might emerge. Finally, after a long, long period of utter silence, he raised one hand and pointed a commanding finger at Owain.
"Say nothing. Nothing . . . of any of this. To anyone. Before I return." With that, he turned on his heel, moving as if in a dream, and stalked away.
Owain followed him at a distance and watched the King saddle his horse and prepare to leave, and then he turned away to find his longbow and quiver, prepared to follow him wherever he might go. As he bent to pick up his arrows, however, he heard Uther's voice from above and behind him.
"Stay here, Owain, and don't try to follow me. I'll be riding hard and far to let the wind blow through my mind, and I'll come to no harm. I just need to be alone." With that, Uther swung his horse around and rode out.
By the time he had returned to camp, having spent long, solitary hours among the hills digesting all that he had been told, night had long since darkened the encampment. Heedless of the hour Uther went directly to Huw Strongarm's tent and summoned Owain, Garreth Whistler and Huw himself to join him there.
Speaking in terse, clipped sentences, Uther told them everything that Owain had told him earlier. It was evident, he said, that Lot had no fear of Uther's wrath. He had demonstrated that by his almost casual execution of the envoys, although it might be argued that his flamboyant cruelty was merely the token gesture of a braggart, since he had called them "Camulodian messengers," indicating that he might not know with whom he was really dealing. Either way, Uther had decided, the cost of that crime would be the loss of Lot's own skin, flayed from his living body on the day he became Uther's prisoner.
Equally clearly, Uther continued, Lot cared nothing about what became of his Queen, Ygraine, and the women unfortunate enough to have been in her company when she was taken. Had it been otherwise, he would have handled everything differently. The Queen was a mere woman and a chattel, bestowed upon him in a marriage of convenient alliance with a King who now lacked importance or significance. So he was careless of her fate, and that was unsurprising and expected in a man like Gulrhys Lot. What was far more significant, however, was that he should be so uncaring about the other twelve captured women. Certainly, he had sworn a public oath to find and rescue all of them, including Ygraine, and had dispatched an army to do that, but that had been no more than a token gesture of hand-wringing hypocrisy. The army he had dispatched was a rabble of mercenaries, and its leadership was questionable at best—a son forced into service against his own father by a threat against his wife and child. Ten of the Queen's women, he pointed out, were Cornish, the other two having come from Eire with their lady. But those ten Cornish women were all daughters of Lot's supporters, the wealthiest and most powerful of Cornwall's Chiefs and warlords, and some, if not all of them, must have value in their fathers' eyes. What, then, did this blatant unconcern say about Lot's dealings with his own most senior and powerful people? How could he afford to be so openly uncaring of what they thought?
The three men, the closest of all his followers, sat gazing at him without speaking, thinking over all that they had been told and trying to make sense out of any part of it. It was Garreth Whistler who eventually broke the silence.
"Uther," he said, "there's something very wrong here, something I can't grasp . . . And that leaves me thinking Lot must be insane. Could that be true? This hostage nonsense, taking this fellow Lagan's wife and son in order to make sure he goes against his own father . . ."
Uther was leaning forward, his eyes narrowed to slits. "What you are really wondering is whether or not the man is far enough gone in his mind to have taken hostages from everyone about him to ensure the ongoing loyalty of all of them. Am I right?"
"Aye, you are. Could he do such a thing? I've never heard the like."
"Nor have I, my friend, but it would not be impossible . . . given that you were insane enough to accept that everyone around you must hate and fear you." Uther looked from Garreth to the other two. "Owain, would you know aught of the like?"
Owain of the Caves shrugged his shoulders and managed to nod his head simultaneously. "I would. I lived with it for a while." He turned his gaze on Garreth. "That's what it was growing to be like with Meradoc. He was drunk with power and felt the stronger to have people go in fear of him. But it was going to his head, none'less, and he was getting worse . . . He would never have held hostages, though. That would have been too much work. He'd have had to feed them and keep them healthy. He had us, instead. We put the fear of dying into everyone around him. Didn't have to do anything most of the time. It was simply enough to be there, and to be seen and feared." He stopped short and looked quickly at Uther. "Think you that's what Lot is doing?"
"Aye, Owain, I do. I think he has surrounded himself with a force of mercenaries strong enough to carry out his every wish without compunction, and their strength guards his strength."
"Then he's a fool, as well as mad!" This was Huw Strongarm. "They are but hired men, with no loyalty to him."
"Aye, per
haps. But never doubt a mercenary's loyalty to the hand that holds the drawstring of the purse that pays him, Huw. As long as Lot can keep them paid—be it in booty, gold, food, drink or women—they'll do his bidding and fulfill his purposes. And if those purposes entail keeping his entire people terrified and on their toes, awaiting death, so be it."
"So where does that leave us?" asked Garreth Whistler.
"Well, it leaves us with a task regarding this army that's out looking for us. We know they're down in the far southwest, or they were a few days ago. What we must do is keep them there, where they won't interfere with us or our plans."
"And how will we do that?" Garreth asked.
"You will do it, Garreth, by leading our Dragons down there and finding Lagan Longhead, then taking vengeance for Lodder and his ten men. Lot's rabble will be as sheep against wolves, face to face with our Dragons, especially when you tell our troopers what befell their friends who went to talk with Lot and his carrion-eaters. But your task will be to harry them, Garreth, not to fight battles. Hit them hard and outrun them on horseback, then turn about and hit them hard again. Give them no rest, no satisfaction and no mercy. Set them reeling, then keep them staggering. Keep them in the field and in the far southwest, away from here."
"Aye, I'll do that. When d'you want me to leave?"
"I'm not sure yet, but it will be very soon. Probably tomorrow."
"Fine. And while I'm away, what are you going to do with all these blasted women, now we know their King won't buy them back?"
"I'm going to use them, Garreth, against Lot. And I'm going to use them very cleverly, I think. In fact, I have been thinking greatly on that this past week and have evolved a stratagem that might work . . . if I can charm their Queen."
Owain coughed loudly into his sleeve, unsuccessfully smothering a guffaw.
Uther looked at him, one eyebrow rising slowly in query. "Owain?"
"Your pardon," he said, smiling openly now. "But . . . you've bedded her, why shouldn't you charm her, too?"
Uther gazed at the big Northerner, his face betraying nothing of his thoughts, and then looked in turn at Huw and at Garreth, both of whom sat blank-faced, staring at him. When he had searched their eyes, all three of them, he nodded slowly.
"What would you say if I informed you that the one I am bedding is not the Queen?"
"Not the—" Huw Strongarm sat straighter, and his right hand dropped unconsciously to the hilt of his dagger. "But of course she is the Queen!"
"Ah yes, Huw." Uther laughed aloud. "She told you so, did she not? I had forgotten. You asked her if she was the Queen and she answered you that she was."
"Yes, she did."
"And did it never occur to you that it might not have been to the Queen's advantage to be known? Or that the one you asked might lie and all the others, too, to protect the true Queen's identity and person?"
"Well, I . . ." Huw's voice died away and he sat silent.
"Which one is the real Queen, then?" Garreth asked, and Uther grinned at him.
"You ought to know, Garreth. You have met her sister, or at least seen her, twice that I know of. And her brother, too."
Garreth looked incredulous. "Her brother? I have met her brother? How would I know the brother of a Cornish Queen?"
"Because she is not Cornish, nor yet from Britain at all. Think, man, think! Do you remember my Cousin Merlyn's adjutant, Donuil? Well, he had a sister . . ."
"Aye, you told me. Cassandra, the girl you found in the woods. Except her name turned out to be . . ."
"Deirdre, the red-haired one. Now, here's what I have in mind."
"Wait you, Uther, before you go farther." Owain sounded perplexed. "Before you go any farther, answer me this . . . How do you expect to charm the real Queen while you be yet tupping the false one?"
"I have already stopped tupping the false one."
"Have you, by all the gods? And when was that?"
"Last night. No, in truth it was this afternoon when I began to think this through. That is when I decided to stop."
"And d'you think she will take kindly to that? She'll be angry."
"Wherefore? At being deceived? I think not. Remember, she pretends to be the Queen, thereby deceiving me. Now listen closely. We will say nothing of this failed approach to Lot in any of our dealings with the women, but I want to separate them all from the true Queen, so here is what we'll do . . ."
In the brightness of mid-morning the following day, Dyllis was isolated by four guards and taken away from her companions without explanation, two of the guards accompanying and leading her, gently enough and without force, one on either side, while the other two used their spears as barriers to prevent any of her companions from attempting to aid her.
Bewildered rather than frightened by the suddenness of her abduction, Dyllis had barely begun to make sense of what was happening to her when her guards came to a halt and she found herself in front of another tent, this one far smaller than the King's Tent in which Morgas was confined. A wooden table stood in front of it, with two folding wood-and-leather chairs, and on her right, its reins loosely tethered to a hawthorn tree, an enormous brown horse, bridled and saddled, stood so close to her that she could hear the ripping sound of grass being cropped between its grazing lips.
"Sit, lady." One of her guards pointed towards a chair, and Dyllis moved timidly to obey him. As soon as she was seated, both guards stepped back from her in unison and stood with their spear butts grounded by their right feet, their left hands behind their backs as though their thumbs were hooked into their belts, and their eyes fixed upon some point far distant above her head.
Moments later, the flaps of the tent were pulled back and the giant form of Uther Pendragon emerged, wearing full armour, but carrying his heavy, ornate helmet in the crook of his left arm. He stepped forward until he loomed over her, forcing her to lilt her head back in order to see him, and then he smiled and nodded, placing his helmet on the table between them and sitting down carefully in the other chair.
"Lady Dyllis. I hope my men did not mistreat you?"
Dyllis opened her mouth to respond, but nothing emerged so completely surprised was she. She had heard terrible things about this man, this scourge of all things decent and familial, but his face was open and smiling, unlined and unblemished, even by a frown. It was a youthful face, with a long, straight nose, humorous and cleanshaven, apart from a full moustache that stretched down to his chin. She saw strength and confidence, but none of the cruelty, arrogance and disdain she had thought to see. And she realized that she was sitting gaping like a fool. She swallowed hard, coughed slightly to clear her throat, then tried to speak again, this time with more success, although all that came out was a frightened, wordless squeak.
Uther smiled again and spoke right on as though he had heard her perfectly and had understood every word she had meant to say.
"I sent for you because I have something important to do . . . a decision I must make, regarding you and your companions and the Queen . . . and it seemed to me that you would probably be the best person to ask."
Dyllis found her voice at that, frowning with disapproval at his presumption. "Why would you think that. Sir King?" She saw his eyebrow rise up on his forehead, but before he could interrupt, she swept on, finding the words now without difficulty. "On matters regarding my lady the Queen, she herself must be the best person to ask. I have no right to speak in her stead. Since you are an abductor of women and therefore without honour, you have no right to ask me anything at all, but most certainly you have no right to ask me for my opinion concerning what the Queen might think or say or do." She stopped then, having frightened herself with her forth- rightness, but Uther was nodding his head.
"I have no quarrel with that, lady . . . though I take exception to your remarks about honour. I will say no more than this. My honour lies in my own recognizance, and to this point I have done nothing to demean it with regard to you. your Queen or the rest of her women.
"Beyond that, however, on the matter of the Queen, I grant that what you say is true, and I have no justification for expecting you to speak on her behalf on any matter. But that is not what I would ask of you. My urgency lies elsewhere. Your Queen is in my hands, and as a hostage she is more than simply valuable: she is beyond price. And yet, if I do the wrong thing, or if I proceed less than judiciously, I could lose every advantage in negotiating with Lot for her release. I will release her, and unharmed—I can give you my assurance on that, so believe as you will—but we are at a crucial interval here, and I require your help in the form of an answer to this question: which one, of all the Queen's women, would be the best possible choice for me to send to Lot with word of his wife's capture?"
He stopped talking then, watching her eyes closely, and precisely when he saw her begin to gather her breath to speak, he held up a peremptory hand.
"Before you answer that, let me add something else for you to consider: the woman whom I send must have authority among you and must command respect in all your eyes, for only then will she achieve standing in Lot's eyes, I believe. But she must also be fluent and strong in argument, and she must enjoy the confidence of the Queen herself. Do you take my meaning?"
Dyllis nodded. "I do."
"And do you have such a woman among your number?"
Dyllis nodded. "Yes, but only one. The woman you require is called Deirdre. She has everything you seek, and she, above all others, has the power to convince King Lot of what he must do to safeguard and win back his wife, Ygraine the Queen."
Uther frowned. "You intrigue me. She, above all others, has the power to convince Lot? Arc you saying—is this Deirdre then Lot's mistress? For if she is, she would be the worst person I could send, since it would be to her advantage to leave her Queen right here with me, rotting in bondage."