Jack Whyte - Uther

"And how did it feel?"

"I don't know. She wouldn't do it. Set her teeth and refused to open them and I began to get angry and to force it. . . and she bit me."

"Ayee! Hard?"

"Hard enough. I was in a foul frame of mind and that bite set me off on a rampage. You know what my temper can be like. This was me at my worst."

"So you hit her, and Merlyn knocked you down, and she ran."

"Yes."

"And that was it? That was all that happened? Did you and Merlyn continue fighting after the girl had run?"

Uther shrugged. "No. Merlyn let me up, and I left. I walked out of there and went directly to the stables, picking up a few of my own Dragons on the way—no one in particular, just troopers unfortunate enough to cross my path while I was in that mood. I dragged all of them with me and rode back to Tir Manha, as I told you."

"And because of that, that wrestling bout, you would like me to believe that you and Merlyn didn't speak to each other for a whole year?" He waited, but Uther made no attempt to respond.

"That makes no sense, Uther. I mean, it's not as if Merlyn had never seen you lose your temper before, and all the gods know you two have knocked lumps and pieces off each other since you were both old enough to swing your arms and call each other names. And I will not believe it arose out of jealousy because Merlyn resented your approaching a wench in whom he had an interest—you two have been sharing your women since you learned what to do with them. So there's something you are not telling me. What is it?"

Uther pushed himself up to his feet and stepped away from the tree trunk, turning back to face Garreth Whistler. "Well, there are a few details that I failed to mention to you. I told you the fight was all that happened, and that was the truth. What I did not tell you was what was said."

"Said ? Said by whom? You have lost me, Uther."

"Said by me, Garreth, said by me. I swore I would kill her." His face twisted into an expression of self-loathing. "A man should never utter meaningless threats. That was one of the first lessons Grandfather Varrus ever taught Merlyn and me. Never utter meaningless threats, because they will confound and defeat you."

Garreth shrugged his shoulders. "So you were angry and you overreacted. She had just tried to bite off your cock, hadn't she?"

Uther gazed into Garreth's eyes for the space of five heartbeats and then nodded an affirmative. "I threatened to kill her, Garreth, and then I stormed out of there and rode out of Camulod without a word to anyone. And that same night, sometime after I left that room, someone did try to kill Cassandra, and almost succeeded. Now, had you been Merlyn Britannicus, what might you have thought about that?"

"Ahh . . ." The sound that escaped Garreth's mouth was more breath than anything else. He was completely bereft of words, and his eyes reflected consternation as the import of what Uther had said continued to sink home to him.

"Bear in mind, Garreth, that the girl was deaf and mute. She could not talk about who had attacked her. She could tell no one. All she could hope to do—all anyone could hope she would do—was point a finger when and if she ever recognized her assailant. But that meant that her life was in danger every moment, since the unknown attacker would have to kill her in order to protect himself. And so Cousin Merlyn arranged somehow—and I have no idea how he achieved it—to have Cassandra vanish from a heavily guarded building. He's a clever lad, our Merlyn."

"But—wait a moment, Uther, wait a moment . . . If Merlyn believed you were the one who had done this, why would he go to such lengths to protect the girl? He knew you were gone far from Camulod, so how then could she have been in danger? Why didn't he simply denounce you?"

Now Uther smiled for the first time, a narrow, bitter smile. "Because, aside from being a clever lad, our Merlyn is also a just one. He was not completely convinced of my guilt. He was very close to being convinced, but he did acknowledge that there could be some doubt, and so he took the steps he did."

"He never accused you of anything?"

"No, he did not, not publicly. Merlyn would never make a public spectacle of his suspicions without proof to back them up. He confronted me about it later. He had smuggled Cassandra away to protect her, he told me, for fear the killer might be someone else, but as soon as she was well enough to withstand the shock of confrontation, he intended to bring her face to face with me again."

"And that would have vindicated you, would it not?"

"Yes, it would, Garreth, but that had never cost me a moment's thought. I knew I had done nothing to harm the girl beyond that first explosion of bad temper. What hurt me more than I would ever have believed anything could hurt was that my Cousin Merlyn could suspect me of such a thing, such depravity. Even as angry as I was, did he think I could do something so deeply, foully evil?" Uther's guts churned then, remembering that those who knew his rage had always feared a darkness in him.

"Shit!" The expletive reflected the depth of Garreth Whistler's frustration and was the last word spoken by either man for some time, but then Whistler shook his head and rubbed his nose with the palm of his hand. "There's still something missing . . . some part of this I am failing to understand. You said you had been in a foul mood. Well, then, what was it that made you angry enough and unhappy enough to dig yourself into the hole you created that day?"

Uther looked at Garreth again and grinned, shaking his head. "Something I don't want to talk about, old friend."

"Now that's very sad, Uther, because you are my King, and had I but a pinch of pity in my breast I would bleed for you. So speak to me, share the burden. Get this pus-filled sickness out of your mind and let your conscience breathe again. What is it, this enormous secret of yours, this thing that has caused you so much ill feeling?"

"This place."

"This place?" Garreth looked around him, frowning.

"No, not here. Cambria, and Tir Manha. It's not my kingdom, Garreth, although I am its King. It is not my home—not my true home, the home of my heart."

"That's Camulod."

"Yes, it is."

Uther reached behind his back with one hand and closed his thumb and fingertips on either side of the blade of the long cavalry sword that hung there, thrusting it upwards hard, so that it almost slid out of the ring between his shoulders, and as it fell forward he grasped it by the hilt, twirled it around and jammed its point into the ground, where it stood swaying gently. Garreth looked at it and said nothing.

"That was the start of it, right there."

"What was, a sword?"

"A cavalry sword, a long sword. Cavalry has always been my first thought of Camulod, Garreth. Every time I hear the name, I think of cavalry—tall men riding tall horses, all of them in armour. There could be no Camulod without cavalry, and without cavalry there would be no long swords like this.

"What I am trying to say, Garreth, is that Camulod and Cambria are like light and darkness to me. My memories of Camulod—all my memories of Camulod—are filled with light and laughter and enjoyment. The people there enjoy their lives! Here, on the other hand, we seem to live most of our days in darkness. Smiles are few and far between in Tir Manha, or anywhere else in Cambria. It is as though our people have no natural feeling for enjoyment. We seem to see it as a sign of weakness. We have no laughter in our souls, or if we have, we save it all inside us until we can laugh at someone else's misfortune, jeering at their pain. Our elders are stern, humourless and unforgiving; our women are dark-faced and lowering. Not always, not always . . . I'll grant that. But more often than otherwise.