Jack Whyte - Uther

The black-bearded giant moved down directly to the Queen and her ladies, passing between two of the warriors of her bodyguard who now stood weaponless. As he approached, Ygraine saw that he was even more impressive than from afar, towering over Alasdair, the tallest of her bodyguard. Herliss had already arrived and been informed of Ygraine's wishes, and now he stood sullenly to Morgas's right, glaring at his conqueror. Watching the big stranger approach, Ygraine was impressed by his comeliness, obscured even as it was by the black beard and by his surprising youth. She estimated his age to be no more than twenty-one or twenty-two; younger than herself or any of her women.

"Which of you is the Queen?" The voice was a deep but strangely gentle growl, the words uttered in a Celtic language strange to Ygraine's Erse ear, but understandable. He ignored the men completely, his eyes moving from face to face among the women. When his gaze met hers, quickening with evident intent to speak to her, she lowered her eyes demurely and turned away, hoping to disarm him. She was surprised at herself: at the strange sensations that were coursing through her; at the heat she could feel rising in her cheeks; and at the compulsion she felt to look back frankly into his blue eyes and speak to him, an unknown stranger and a proven enemy, a brigand and a thief. She closed her eyes, gripping her elbows in her hands, steeling herself, and then, aware somehow that he was no longer looking at her, she opened them again and glanced towards him, noting that every woman in her group was watching him watching Morgas. Ygraine breathed again, feeling relief sweep over her. It was no surprise that he had fastened upon Morgas, but it was gratifying to know that her judgment had been sound. He had dismissed Ygraine, drawn to the brighter blossom.

As he moved towards them, approaching very close to where they stood, Ygraine moved closer to Morgas, almost interposing herself between the two, inclining her head slightly, with an air of submission towards the blond woman. The man loomed over her.

"Lady," he growled, "are you the Queen among these people?"

"I am." Morgas's voice was cold, with no hint of graciousness.

The big man bowed to her, almost brushing Ygraine's breast with his shoulder. Her nostrils flared in anticipation of the smell of him, but instead of the rank odour she had expected, she caught nothing but the mild hint of warm, clean sweat.

"Lady—" He broke off, straightening himself up. "Your pardon. What should I call you?"

"That will suffice." The voice dripped icy disdain.

He nodded. "I am Huw, called Huw Strongarm, captain to Uther, King of Pendragon."

Ygraine felt her spirits falter. Uther Pendragon, the Cambrian King himself, already here in Cornwall and the snow not a week gone! Her people's hopes had all been pinned upon his late arrival after a long, hard winter, but he was here already. Then she frowned, looking anew at the young giant who called himself Huw. He seemed like an unlikely captain for the fabled Pendragon hordes. She had heard many stories, they all had, of the savagery of the Pendragon warriors, and many more of Uther, the chimera they called their King, with his lusts for rapine and slaughter and the torture of innocents. It was common knowledge that the friends he owned equalled the number of the enemies he had met: none lived in either case. His name was anathema to all decent folk, and he and her husband had been fell enemies since boyhood. Gulrhys, she knew, detested him to the bottom of his soul.

Faced with a stony silence, and clearly at a loss because of it, the big man cleared his throat. "My lord has been delayed. He should have come this morning, since he knew that you would pass this way today—"

"How could he know that?" The question, uttered in clipped, sterile tones, came from Morgas.

Huw looked at her and almost, Ygraine thought, began to smile. Instead he frowned and shrugged. "He knew. But we must wait close by here, up in the hills, until he comes. In the meantime there is work to do. We must unload these wagons and distribute their contents among our men."

"God save your sorry wit! You would carry their cargo? On your backs? That bespeaks little brain inside your brawn."

Huw gazed at Morgas for the space of three heartbeats, then raised one eyebrow. "We used our brawn to dig these pits on either side . . . but it was our brains that told us we might do it. Wagons leave broad tracks, lady. Footprints are less obvious and more difficult to follow."

He glanced away from Morgas, looking directly into Ygraine's eyes for a moment, and she lowered her eyes immediately, but not before noticing that again he almost smiled before returning his attention to Morgas. "We built the trap, milady. You entered it."

Morgas bit her lip, bereft of a suitable response.

"Which wagon holds your tents? I'll have my men unload them and your people may bring them separately, so that you will have comforts while you await the King."

"Uther Pendragon is no King, not here in Cornwall! Here, Gulrhys Lot is lord." Morgas was Hushed, with a hectic colour in her cheeks, and her eyes were glittering. She held her head high, attempting to wither this man with her scorn. Ygraine saw her glance briefly in her direction before returning her attention to the big man who stood so close to her. Then Morgas raised her voice, its tone still tight with a tension masked as anger. "Derwyn!"

The man called Derwyn turned to her immediately, and Morgas pointed to him, speaking icily to Huw.

"Derwyn is our steward. He knows where everything is and his people will unload our wagons. He will not require your assistance."

Huw nodded. "No, milady. But I will require my men to assist him, despite that, to watch your people." He looked to Derwyn. "Come."

When the two men were out of hearing and she had looked about to see that they were free from the attention of other strangers, Ygraine addressed those who remained about her.

"Good. That went well. Now, move about and find something to do. The gods know there's enough to be done. But remember, all of you, Morgas is Queen until I say otherwise, so bring her my chair and bring her chair for me." She turned to Morgas. "Walk with me Morgas, but ahead of me, and mind you keep us clear of these people. I have no wish to be overheard. Dillys, walk beside me, behind Morgas."

No one seemed to pay any attention to them as they began to walk, although it was mere moments before Ygraine became aware that their movements were being mirrored by a trio of men on the hillside above, each of whom carried a casually slung bow. These men's eyes remained fixed on the three women, and their duty was obviously to watch and to guard against any attempt at flight. Ygraine ignored them and looked around her to where her own men were being herded into groups and guarded by squads of dour-faced bowmen who stood above them on the flanks of the hill, each squad focused upon one group of disarmed Cornishmen. Her own bodyguard stood closest to where they walked, huddled dejectedly and yet somehow defiantly in a single group, stripped of all weaponry. Ygraine nodded silently to Alasdair as she passed them, and then she waited until she and Morgas had gained an open stretch of road before speaking.

"You find that Huw attractive. Keep your wits about you. You're my bait, but for the monster Uther, not his lackey."

Morgas swung to look at her, wide-eyed. "What are you talking about? The man's a pig."

Ygraine jerked up one hand to forestall her companion's response. "Please, Morgas! The man's attractive—no denying that—but he is unimportant. Just remember who you are supposed to be, for now at least, and why. We have a bigger prize than Huw Strongarm.

"At best we might be held for ransom. Only our presence, if we can believe what we are told, has saved our men from being slaughtered as quickly as were Gylmer and his group. Their lord does not make war on women. Faugh! Uther Pendragon, the man whose name is used to frighten children? Better to be tortured by the alien Saxons than well treated by such as these, Morgas. These are our deadly enemies. They come to kill us all! They come in war, to rape and steal and kill and burn and devastate our homes, to hang and mutilate our children!"