by Whyte, Jack
Uther smiled, then sobered quickly. "Aye, I had. But you and I were changed by all of those same things. Lagan, and yet you and I are not crazed madmen, pulling our whole world down around our ears."
"That's true. But no matter how low we might think he has sunk, Lot retains a bottomless well of attractiveness and warmth that he can draw from anytime he wishes. And when he finds someone who can be of use to him, or someone who is in a position to provide him with some new benefit, or even someone he wants to influence to his own ends for some specific purpose, there seems to be no limit to the efforts he will make to win them to his way of thinking." Lagan grimaced at the thought. "I've watched him doing it for years, and believe me, he can be incredibly seductive and alluring when it comes to making people do what he wants them to do. He could coax honey from a hungry bear. But you can guess at what must happen time and again: those people who found themselves basking in the warmth and enthusiasm of his attention and approval one week would find themselves abandoned and ignored the next, when his directions changed. And being suddenly removed from light and warmth, then thrown back into the cold shadows among which they had lived before, they felt the cold more keenly, and the dimness of their former lives now seemed like darkness. Do you wonder they became bitter?"
"No. And yet I was thinking that Lot must be too clever to allow that kind of thing to happen, to permit people to think of him that harshly when there's no need for it. It is bad leadership . . . bad kingship. It's bad policy, from every viewpoint." Uther thought about that for a moment, and then dismissed the subject offhandedly. "But then, he's Lot of Cornwall, and he's insane."
Lagan barked a laugh.
Full darkness had fallen on them suddenly, between one word and the next, and both men reined in their mounts and turned in their saddles to look up at the moon, which now lay behind them over their left shoulders. It had vanished behind the edge of a large, fast- moving cloud that blocked out the surrounding stars, but as they sat staring it emerged front its trailing skirts to bathe the world once again in light. Lagan turned away and was making tutting sounds between his teeth, scanning the skies to the northeast.
"Storm coming in. That cloud was moving very quickly, and it's only the first. Look over there, it's as black as Hades. Perhaps we should ride a little faster."
"How much farther do we have to go?"
"Five miles. An hour's ride, the way we were going. We'll be wet long before then."
"Then let's shorten that hour while the light's good."
They kicked their mounts into motion again and prodded them into a canter, riding in silence as they adjusted to the increased speed and the changing shadows. They were on the high moors, and there were no trees or bushes to impede their progress, but both of them knew that the ground under their horses' hooves could be treacherous, strewn with loose stones and pitted in places with the holes of burrowing animals. After about a quarter of an hour of this, the horses began to breathe more heavily and their riders slowed them again to a walk. The sky overhead was still clear, save for the occasional small, unthreatening cloud. The massed storm banks in the northeast seemed to be moving very slowly, despite the speed of the first cloud that had covered the moon.
Uther had been thinking about what Lagan said, and now there was one question remaining in his mind, one point on which he had to be certain.
"Would you still be his friend if he came back and asked you to?"
Lagan glanced quickly at Uther and then shook his head decisively. "No. It's gone far beyond redemption now."
"And does Lot know that?"
It took a long time for Lagan to answer that, but eventually he looked up and shook his head. "No. He has no idea that I feel the way I do."
"Are you sure about that?"
Now Lagan snapped his head round in scorn and his voice was a rebuke. "Of course I am sure of that! Were it otherwise, I would be dead, and so would my whole family, from my father to my youngest nieces." He stopped short, clenching his eyes tight shut and scratching at one eyebrow with a fingertip, and when he opened his eyes and spoke again his voice was under control once more.
"I am forced to live a lie, you see, in order to save lives. Not my own—I care nothing for that—but. . . others. I tell you, my friend, you can have no idea how much pleasure it would give me to march into his presence, among all his swarming guards, and tell him what I really think of him and his perverted ways. But do you know the most sickening part of all of this?" He glanced at Uther and then shook his head, answering his own question. "The worst of all of this is that, even as he was having me hunted down and killed with all my clan, he would be feeling hurt and ill-used. The thing you have to understand about Lot is the strange self-love he has. In Lot's own mind, he has no flaws; he can do nothing wrong. It's always the other people in his life who betray him, one way or another. There is never any possibility at all that he might be at fault—What was that? Did you hear something?"
Uther stopped dead, standing up in his stirrups and leaning forward to throw the lower edge of his cloak forward over the head of his horse, blinding it. The animal had been trained to stand quietly and make no sound when covered thus.
"Something," he said. "Sounded like a shout, cut short."
"That's what I thought, too. Can you see anything?"
"No. Shut up and listen."
For a long space of moments there was nothing, and then, from the far side of a slight rise ahead of them, came a clink of metal on metal, followed a short time later by another.
Both men dismounted quickly, Uther dropping his reins to the ground, knowing that would stop his well-trained horse from moving away. He then wrapped his borrowed black cloak around him and moved forward towards the top of the small rise that Lagan was already climbing, bending low and finally crawling forward on his belly to where he could see beyond the crest.
The ground fell away steeply on the other side of the little knoll, stretching down to the deep, dry bed of what must once have been a fair-sized stream, and the entire watercourse, as far as they could see on either side, was choked with heavily armed men, moving from north to south. Directly ahead of where the two watchers lay, between them and the traffic, one man sat apart, being aided by a couple of others, and it soon became obvious that he must have been the one who had shouted out, because one of his companions was holding the man's leg tightly while the other was binding up his ankle, ignoring the muttered litany of curses that poured from his lips. Seeing the fellow squatting there with his leg extended in front of him, Uther thought again about the burrowing animals that abounded on these moors, and how dangerous their excavations were to nighttime travellers.
Their binding finished, the two men hauled their comrade to his feet and then each took one of his arms across their shoulders and led him away, limping heavily between them. Neither of the watchers even glanced at the other, but Uther sensed Lagan's head coming close to his own, and he leaned closer to him to listen.
"Don't know who these people are, but they could be Lot's own mercenaries," Lagan mouthed, his lips almost touching Uther's ear. "They're headed due south, to Tir Gwyn. Lot is to be there tomorrow. But I don't know why they would be marching secretly at night, or so soundlessly. Unless, of course. Lot has sent them ahead to ensure that Herliss is not plotting to surprise his King when the great man arrives."
Uther spoke from the corner of his mouth, his voice as low as Lagan's. "Who else could they be, do you know? I mean, could they be other than Lot's people?"
"No, not unless they're yours. They must be Lot's. And they're going south, so they are headed for Tir Gwyn. The Crag Fort is to the east, directly ahead of us, so they can't be going there. We'll simply have to stay here and wait for them to pass, but we'd better move off a bit."
"Should you not make some attempt to warn your father that they're coming?"
"Aye, and I will when we reach the Crag Fort. He is there waiting for us."
Uther nodded and they withdrew, making
their way backwards until they felt it was safe to stand upright again. Then they returned to their horses and sat down by their feet.
A short time after that, a single, heavy drop of rain landed on Uther's ear. He glanced up at the sky, which had turned completely black, stood up and thrust his heavy helmet back onto his head, then wrapped his cloak completely around himself. A moment later the skies opened and the thundering of heavy raindrops on the metal helmet shut out every other sound in the world.
There was no point in trying to go anywhere. They stood there like statues, two men and two horses, and the deluge inundated them completely, so that they could not have been seen from more than five paces away. In all, seven Hares of lightning lit up the darkness and revealed the black, empty land, obscured by driven lines of pelting rain, and then the worst of the storm passed over and the strength of the downpour abated slowly. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the darkness lightened until the two men could see each other again, albeit dimly, and still they stood, waiting patiently for time to pass and for the rain to end.
When they moved forward slowly again, the river of men had vanished, as though the storm and the night had obliterated them. Uther's jaw was sore with biting down to keep his teeth from chattering, and he shuddered.
"Never mind," said Lagan. "We've still got a mile to go, but when we get to the Crag Fort they'll have firelight and warmth, and ale and roasted meat."
"Could we reach it in less than a mile if we move quickly?"
Lagan grinned and wiped a raindrop from the end of his nose with the back of his hand. "We might. . . they say there's a first time for everything."
Chapter THIRTY-TWO
"So, Lot has his hounds out coursing for my downfall."
Herliss was sitting close to the roaring fire in the main hall of the fortified hamlet known as the Crag Fort, and above his head the sloping roof of the building rose up into smoke-filled blackness. Ygraine, Queen of Cornwall, sat on the other side of the stone fireplace, flanked by two of her ladies. Uther sat on Herliss's right, so that Herliss was between him and the fire, and Lagan stood beside him. Behind Lagan's back the huge room was dark, save for an arrangement of iron candelabra that illuminated a table against the wall farthest from the fire.
"That's what it looked like to Lagan," Uther responded. "He assumed immediately that they were on their way to your White Fort, although he could not understand why they would need to be so secretive—"
"Not until I had thought about it for at least half a heartbeat," Lagan interjected. "Then it became clear. They are our King's men, going about his lawful affairs." His voice was heavy with irony, but it provoked only a half-smile from Uther.
"Anyway," Uther continued, "I could not tell where they were going or why. All I knew was that they weren't my men. That left me to assume that they were Lot's. . . Cornish in name and allegiance. And so I kept my head down." He glanced at Lagan to see if he had anything to add, but the Cornishman stood slightly hunched, staring into the flames and oblivious to what was being said for the time being. His arms were crossed on his chest, and in one hand he held a pot of ale.
Uther then looked directly at Herliss, taking care to avoid Ygraine's eyes. He was highly aware that she was staring at him, and he was afraid of looking back at her lest his face betray his thoughts and feelings to the others in the room. One of the two women sitting slightly behind the Queen was the Lady Dyllis, but the other was a stranger.
He and Lagan had arrived in the Crag Fort an hour earlier, and Uther was impressed by the way they had been received. The fort was strongly guarded, encircled by two separate lines of vigilant sentinels, the farthest of these about a hundred paces out from the walls and made up of pairs of guards, each pair posted some twenty paces from its neighbours on either side. The walled fort itself was small, its rectangular enclosure no greater than seventy-live, perhaps eighty paces to a side, but it was a strongly built affair, made from local stone, and Uther had identified it at first glance as a military installation, built hundreds of years earlier by the Romans to house regular patrols, or perhaps even a permanent garrison of approximately one hundred and twenty men and officers, that being the number of men in a maniple, the tactical lighting unit of a cohort. A tight cluster of guards had been on duty by the heavy, wooden main gates, and it had been evident from the outset that Lagan was expected, because no one had sought to question either him or his companion as they unsaddled their horses and left them to Herliss's stablehands before crossing the guard lines and entering the main fort. Uther had felt, going in, that no one even glanced at his face, but he had not permitted himself to believe it. He had simply accepted that Herliss's people, at least, were alert and knew what they were about, well prepared to safeguard their own part of Cornwall.
Once safely within the walls, Lagan had led Uther directly to the main building, a log structure that had once served as the headquarters building of the Roman garrison. It was the largest building in the enclosure and was surrounded by some half a score of smaller buildings, all built of logs around four or six supporting posts. About half of these, long and low, were evidently barracks, and others were plainly used for storage and maintenance and other utilitarian purposes. Several of the remaining buildings looked like substantial dwellings, and Uther had seen three, at least, that were connected to each other by enclosed walkways.
They found Herliss waiting for them in the main hall, and as they greeted each other Uther's eyes went immediately to the far wall, where a few household servants were loading food onto a table that already groaned beneath the profusion of dishes—hot, cold, flesh, fowl, fish, fruit, vegetable and bread—that lay piled upon it. Herliss explained that the Queen and her women would join them soon and had already been informed of their arrival. None of them had yet eaten, he added, the Queen having decided to await the arrival of their expected guests, and in consequence, everyone was hungry and impatient.
Herliss summoned one of his guards, who had been waiting to lead Uther to the quarters that had been assigned to him. There, Herliss explained, he would find a hoi brazier and a selection of clean, dry clothing. Uther had begun to thank the old man when, without warning, Ygraine walked into the hall.
He managed to greet the Queen somehow and pay his respects to her women without betraying his absolute confusion, and then excused himself, dripping rainwater, to scurry away with his head down, following the guard who had been waiting for him. Once there, however, safely ensconced and alone, Uther felt under no constraint to hurry and change his clothes before rushing back to the hall where the others awaited him. Instead, he changed slowly, drying himself at leisure and luxuriating in the glow of the brazier as he dressed himself again in the clean, warm clothing that had been laid out for his use. And while he was doing so, he permitted himself for the first time since the arrival of Lagan Longhead in his camp to consider all the chaotic thoughts that had been going through his mind.
His first thoughts upon hearing Lagan's unexpected invitation had been of ambush and treachery, but those had been short-lived. Lagan had been wearing Uther's own ring, as arranged between Uther himself and Ygraine. and Uther could think of no circumstances that might have induced Ygraine to give up that secret to anyone else. Not even Herliss had been privy to that arrangement. And so he had accepted Lagan's invitation at face value. From the moment of that decision, however, he had been forced to reflect upon the feelings that he held for Ygraine. It had been many months since he had last seen the Cornish Queen, and the bare truth was that it had been an equally long time since he had thought of her to any degree.
Only now, in the privacy of this strange chamber with its welcome brazier, did he admit to himself that he had been intrigued by the thought of seeing her again—and to be truthful, a voice in his mind said, of bedding her again. As the thought occurred to him, he turned his head and looked at the bed, a substantial affair that was raised high off the floor on solid legs and covered with a wealth of rich bedding. It was a sturdy,
solid bed, made for everything a man could require of it, and he smiled to himself.
The simple sight of her, her welcoming smile, had blinded him. Her radiance and beauty had almost rocked him physically with the force of its impact. Stunned by the instantaneous awareness that he had been able to forget how beautiful she was, he had hesitated momentarily in mid-step as he mewed to greet her, feeling his eyes go wide and knowing that he was betraying far more than was wise. He had been consumed instantly and utterly by the red, fire-lit glory of her hair seen from fifteen paces distant and by the forgotten brilliance of her great green eyes in the startling whiteness of her flawless face. And then the memory of her smooth, bare hip beneath his hand had caused an explosion in his chest, bringing his heart up into his throat and snatching the breath away from him. He remembered the weight of her, defenceless and abandoned in his arms, pulling him down as he lowered his head to kiss that generous, laughing mouth with its wide, full, soft lips.
When he had found himself face to face with her, gazing into her smiling eyes, he had thought he might never be able to find words with which to greet her properly, but words came to him and he had muttered something that aroused neither comment nor surprise from her or from anyone else. He had felt her fingers close warmly over his own and had known beyond doubt that she was even happier to see him than he was to see her, but he could think of nothing to say or do other than to bend forward, slip one arm around her pliant waist and sink his face into the silken warmth of her soft neck. And even as that thought filled his mind, he had imagined the gentle breeze of her warm breath in his ear, and his throat had closed completely with lust and embarrassment. Ygraine, however, had seemed to notice nothing amiss and looked away from him, still smiling, to say something to Herliss. Awkward and fumbling and tongue-tied, he had been grateful for the excuse to flee to his quarters, where he might find time and opportunity to overcome this unaccustomed panic. He had managed to be pleasant, he knew, to the Lady Dyllis and to her companion, whose name was Roman, Lydia, and he knew, too, that he had eventually managed to escape without making an utter fool of himself.