by Jack Whyte
He maintained his slow progress along the Hank of the hill for four miles and more, grimly holding his mount in check, yet easily outstripping those eager forerunners who sought to take him on the hill. Then, when he could see that the hillsides were alive with climbing men, he signalled his people to turn their mounts and set the spurs to them, climbing the hill until they crossed over to the other side and made their way down into the valley that lay there to join the far larger group, more than four hundred to Uther's forty, that awaited them.
Reunited with his men, he led them at a fast, sustainable canter that devoured the miles ahead of them, but he left scouts behind in sufficient numbers to be visible to the pursuing enemy and to create the illusion that they were almost within reach, and he dispatched relays to relieve them every half hour, so that there was a constant stream of troopers coming and going between his main force and the pursuing hordes.
They caught up with Ygraine's party in less than an hour after reaching the valley bottom, the women's progress having slowed almost to a crawl as the hardships of struggling on foot through a pathless wilderness exhausted them. Ygraine's guards, no doubt frustrated by their lack of progress, had heard his party approaching and were tightly grouped around the Queen and her women, prepared to die there, when Uther arrived.
Ygraine was delighted and surprised to see him so soon, for it had been less than six hours since they had parted, and she wanted to know immediately how he had fared in the battle, but he waved her to silence and wasted no time trying to explain what had happened. Instead, he deflected her questions by rapping out commands to have the women hoisted onto horseback behind fresh troopers while his bowmen dismounted, aching and sore from their long ride, and stretched their legs until they felt sound again. He hoisted Ygraine to his own horse, to ride in front of him, loving the feel of her waist in the bend of his arms in spite of his anger and frustration, and ordered the baby's carrying pack transferred to the back of one of his own troop leaders. Only then did he summon the leader of the Cornish guides who had accompanied the women.
"How far are we from the river now?"
The Cornishman shrugged and pointed towards the brook that ran along the valley bottom. "A league, perhaps another half. No more than that. All these streams feed into the Camel. And on our present course, we'll reach it about another league inland from the sea."
"Are you sure of that?"
"Aye, as sure as any man could be. I've lived in these hills all my life. They're growing smaller, the hills, and the trees are growing bigger as we move south. You can see that, can't you? That means we're closing on the Camel. By the time we reach it, you won't be able to see a hill in any direction until we reach the shoreline. There's cliffs there, to the south again."
"Good, then we'll keep moving. We can travel a league in less than an hour, even if the ground grows rougher than it is, so we should reach the coast before nightfall." He turned to speak into Ygraine's ear. "If your brother is on time, he should be there already. How far from the river's mouth will he be waiting?"
She pressed his arm against her breast. "There's a landing place, a bay with a steeply shelving beach below the third high headland to the south of the river's mouth. I've never seen it, but that's what Colum told me, and it's there that Connor will wait for us. Will you come with us?"
"No, I can't, not yet, but I'll see you safely delivered there before I leave you." He turned in the saddle and gave the signal to move on again, and as his men kicked their mounts into motion, moving in columns of four abreast, he saw a splash of yellow where one of them had tucked Dyllis's long, folded gown into the belt at his waist. A more careful look around then showed him that most of the other troopers had also kept the brightly coloured gowns after their "female" passengers had discarded them, safely distant from pursuit.
"We have your clothes with us, the gowns I made you leave behind this morning. We used them earlier to gull the enemy into thinking you were riding with us and wile them away from our army. I'll have them returned to you when we stop and you should give them back to your women to wear once you have reached the coast. . . but only then and not before."
Ygraine twisted in his arms to look up at him. "Why? You said they were too bright, and they are. You used them yourself for that very reason. Did the ruse succeed?"
"Aye, they followed us, and they're behind us now. That's why we have to keep moving quickly. But once on the coast, bright clothing, highly visible, will attract your friends. What was wrong inland will be right there."
Ygraine was still twisted in her seat, craning her neck to see his face.
"What happened this morning, Uther? You had no time to win a victory and then catch up to us."
Uther shook his head and avoided her eyes until she turned away, fatigued by the strain of peering up at him from such an awkward position, but after a while, as they rode on directly south, he began speaking quietly and bitterly into Ygraine's ear, telling her of his ignominious abandonment of his army. She listened intently, absorbing the depth of his shame, and made no attempt to interrupt his confession. Only when his voice had died away into silence did she speak, keeping her eyes fixed forward but pressing his free hand to the softness of her bosom.
"You have wise friends, King Cambria, and brave. You should be proud of them. Their advice was sound, and they were right. You did what you had to do, and the doing of it saved hundreds of lives that would have been wasted otherwise. Not merely these hundreds here with you, but all the others who remained alive after you left. You have no need for shame or guilt. Was Lot there?"
She barely heard his answer. "No, only his creatures in their thousands. Your spouse has little love of danger. And yet I thought he might be there to gloat. . ."
"Then he will be elsewhere on another day, and you will find him and destroy him."
"Aye, mayhap."
"Mayhap? There is no doubt in my mind, my love. You will."
"Aye, I will. I'll destroy him one day. But I doubt if even your Christian God could tell how I might find him. The man is swift and secret as a serpent."
As Uther said those words, a gust of wind caught Ygraine's long, loose hair and blew it up and back towards him, swirling about his face, tickling his cheeks. His shoulders stiffened at the contact and he sat more erect in his saddle, peering over her head, straight ahead into nothingness. Another gust buffeted him, and he drew rein, waiting. Moments later came another blast, stronger than those that had preceded it, and then the wind settled in to blow steadily from the south. Uther waited to see if it would die away, but if anything, it grew stronger.
A squadron of cavalry was leaving at that moment to ride back and relieve the rearguard still playing decoy to the pursuing enemy, and Uther waved to catch the attention of the squadron leader, a Celt called Declan, as he rode by. Declan hauled on his reins and turned his horse in a circle to bring it close to Uther's mount.
"Declan, can you make fire? Have you your firebox with you?"
"Aye, lord."
"Good, then I have new instructions for you. The gods have sent us this wind, and we should use it. Take your men up as you intended and relieve the rearguard, but on your way up, look closely at the spot where the valley broadens, less than half a mile behind us here. It is full of long, dry grass and bushes. Leave some of your men there to kindle a fire—small, but large enough to supply you with ample burning brands when you need them. Then go you and relieve the rearguard, and when they are safely gone, abandon the action there. Let the enemy see you fall back, and coax them if you can to follow you. Then put the spurs to your mounts, and when you reach the place where your men have the fire, set the grasses ablaze. Ablaze, you understand? Take the time to spread the fire wide, so there is no chance of its burning out. This wind from the south will do the rest and will funnel the smoke and flames back up the vale towards the enemy. Away with you now, and see to it."
The squadron leader smacked his forearm against his breastplate in salute and wheele
d his horse away, spurring it to a gallop.
Uther replaced his arm about Ygraine's waist. "That, if it goes well, might save us a deal of trouble. Now let's find the River Camel."
Some time later, just as the first of the returning rearguard were beginning to join them, they came to a place where the valley split into two, one branch leading off eastward to their left. Uther halted the advance and called again for the Cornish guide, who told him that the eastward valley led to a much-travelled route that crossed the entire peninsula of Cornwall and intersected one of the smaller roads built by the Romans. That road in turn led to the main Roman road running north and south by the abandoned town of Isca.
Uther thought about that information for a while and then lowered Ygraine gently to the ground while he rode back to meet Declan, returning from the north. The valley was ablaze, Declan reported, and the brisk wind had whipped it into an inferno that had rushed up the northern valley like a river of fire. He had no knowledge of its effect on their pursuers, but he doubted that they would be coming down about King Uther's neck anytime soon.
Uther thanked the man and turned back to where his officers sat waiting for him. The senior cavalry commander with the group was Philip, and Uther went directly to him and told him the decision that had been taking shape in his mind since speaking to the Cornishman. Philip was to take seven-eighths of their present force, approximately three hundred and sixty troopers and officers, and lead them directly homeward, immediately. Uther would retain the remaining troopers—a double squadron of his own Dragons comprising forty men and live officers—to ride with him as escort to the Queen and her women and to amplify the force of her own bodyguard and the thirty Pendragon bowmen who had accompanied them. Combined, the various elements of Uther's party would number in excess of one hundred men, plus the women. Uther expected no trouble this far south, he told Philip, but if he were wrong and trouble did develop, he believed that his small force would be enough to handle it.
Philip was dubious as to the wisdom of splitting their forces, but he wisely said nothing and merely asked the King how far he thought he and the others might be behind them, once they had delivered the Queen safely to her meeting place. Uther estimated that he would be three days at the most before riding to overtake Philip, but he was emphatic that Philip must not wait for him and his party. He must get his own men home to Camulod in safety and as quickly as possible.
Philip listened, nodded, offered no opinion pro or contra the King's decision and promptly set about marshalling his forces for the ride home. Uther and his party waited until the larger group had disappeared from sight along the valley to the east, and then the King gave the signal to resume their march south. Behind them, far to the north and low on the horizon, the sky was obscured by a low, dense pall of drifting smoke.
Chapter THIRTY-NINE
They reached the River Camel an hour before sunset, by which time the wind from the south had strengthened into a whipping, buffeting gale, although it brought no rain. Uther left a squad of cavalry behind as guards, posting them on the highest point of land to watch for unwelcome activity along the path his group had travelled. He did not believe there might still be danger threatening from there, but he would take no chances.
He had decided that they might be wise to camp for the night in some sheltered spot along the last league that separated them from the western sea. The river was placid, neither deep nor wide, although their Cornish guide told them that this was due only to the time of year, and that in winter and springtime the flood became impassable. Uther had already recognized that from the width of the broad, boulder-strewn expanse on either side of the stream bed and the fact that nothing green grew among the stones. There were drowned trees and bushes aplenty on both sides, all of them littered with masses of dead, trailing weeds, and he could see the high-water mark where the dried, dead grass and mosses clinging to the stones marked the height of the floodwaters. Beyond the flood spill and the banks on both sides, the forest was dense, although he could see few large trees.
Uther rode along the riverbank, scanning the growth on both sides with great care, but he saw nothing suspicious and felt no discomfort with his surroundings, and his resolve to camp somewhere inland for the night grew stronger. He had no wish to forge ahead and reach the coast in deep dusk, when he would be committed to making a camp hurriedly in some unexplored spot where they might find themselves trapped with the sea at their backs. All their fine leather tents and creature comforts had been left behind on the high hillside plateau overlooking the battlefield, so there would be little luxury in their camp that night. They would sleep on the ground, under the stars, wrapped in their cloaks—something to which all of them, except the Queen and her women, were inured by a lifetime of hardship. Better then, he thought, to sleep on the relatively soft earth of a dry mud riverbank than on the hard, pebbly surface of a sea beach.
They eventually found a secure camping spot on the far side of the river, midway between the point at which they had reached the Camel itself and the place where it spilled out into the sea, and as soon as Uther had examined the site to his own satisfaction, he gave the welcome signal to dismount. The spot was sheltered among a grove of enormous old evergreens and backed by a high stone cliff, with a spring of clear, fresh water that bubbled at its base and splashed down onto the rocks bordering the stream bed. As soon as they dismounted, some of the men left their horses to their mates and set about lighting fires and preparing the campsite, while others went foraging for an evening meal. Those who remained shared the task of unsaddling and grooming the mounts of the workers when they had finished looking after their own animals. The foragers did well; there were fish in the stream and deer in the forest, and so there was no shortage of fresh food that night for the King's weary party.
Later in the evening, but well before darkness fell, Uther stood by smiling while his infant son was bathed in warm water and made ready for sleep, and then, as the child suckled at his mother's breast until his strangely beautiful, gold-flecked eyes fluttered several times and finally closed, Uther stood close behind Ygraine with his hand resting lightly on her neck, while she leaned back against him for support. Around them, the camp was in that state of pleasant anticipation brought on by the end of the day's labours and the tantalizing smells of a meal in the final stages of preparation. The first watch of guards was in place, and nothing marred the stillness of the evening peace, but Uther felt a sudden, familiar prickling sensation on the nape of his neck and turned casually to see who was watching him.
No one was, as far as he could see, and he dismissed the feeling, shrugging it away and turning back towards his small, new family.
Ygraine stood up, holding the child securely, and went to place him in his leather sleeping bag, and Uther held the backpack open until she was satisfied that the baby was properly installed and sleeping comfortably. They left him then in the care of Dyllis and made their way slowly, arm in arm and talking fondly about the child's sweet temperament, towards the centre of the clearing, where the men who had cooked the various dishes were preparing to serve them. Uther cut each of them a thick slice of venison from the inside of a haunch, laying the meat on two thick slabs of heavy, wholesome bread that they had brought with them, baked the night before the battle to the north, then led Ygraine to a spot by the waterside close to the spring, where they settled down, listening to the birdsong that assured them there was nothing dangerous lurking among the trees.
Behind them, however, opposite the high cliff and high on the grassy slope of a small hill that rose above the trees to the west of them and overlooked the camp, they were indeed being watched. A man lay there, concealed behind a clump of grass. He lay almost motionless, gathering his strength and watching the activity below, and as he did so, he rubbed unconsciously at the stub of the single finger remaining on his left hand.
He and his companions had barely managed to escape the path of the growing lire that Uther's men had set in the narrow v
alley to the north, but they had clambered safely to the top of the western ridge and then swooped down to safety in the valley beyond, where they had stopped to rest and recover their breath before their leader decided what to do next.
They knew the enemy they were pursuing could not be far ahead, and they knew that the women in the fleeing party were slowing them down, making it possible for their hunters to catch up. But now they found themselves on the wrong side of the crest, and the hillsides on the other side were ablaze. Sooner or later, the leader knew, he and his men would have to cross over the ridge again to regain the valley they had so recently left. He had summoned the six fastest runners among the four score who remained alive with him and sent them off to the southward, bidding them run as far and fast as they could, until they could scale the ridge again and find the enemy.
The runners had fallen away one at a time as exhaustion overtook them, but One-Finger, the last and strongest, had run on, his long, wiry legs and effortless stride devouring distance. The lie of the land itself and the thickness of the brush that choked the hillsides had dictated the route he must take, and that route had pushed him farther and farther west, away from the ridge on his left side as it sank lower and lower, its summit angling steadily downwards towards sea level, until he lost sight of it completely, separated from it by at least two miles and hemmed in by an impenetrable press of stunted, thorny, bushy trees that defied him to enter them and fight his way through. Then, finally, just as he had been on the point of collapsing and giving up, he had broken out of the high bushes that surrounded him and found himself on the bank of a river. He had fallen on his knees and drunk the river water, then rolled in the stream, cooling his exhausted body. And afterwards he had climbed up onto the biggest boulder he could find and looked about for a high vantage point. He saw only one possible location, a solitary, low hill thrusting up from the trees from which he had just emerged, about half a league east of where he stood. He had headed directly towards it and had breasted it just in time to see the arrival of Uther's party at their campsite.