Jack Whyte - Uther

Frowning slightly, Ygraine moved slowly to obey, wondering what he was about. When she reached him, he positioned her beside Dyllis, on the other woman's right. Thereafter, one at a time, he brought all of the women except Morgas over until he had them all standing in a straight line facing him. Morgas, meanwhile, seeing herself being gradually isolated, sat watching all of this with a frown. Uther ignored her completely. When she realized that he would not look at her, Morgas turned her head angrily towards Huw Strongarm, but he was watching his King and had no eyes for her.

Uther went and stood directly in front of little Dyllis.

"Your name?" he asked her, his voice gentle.

"Dyllis." Her reply was almost a bleat, so breathless and frightened was she.

"Dyllis. A good name." He moved to stand in front of Ygraine. "And you are?"

"Deirdre." Ygraine had been ready for him and gave the name of one of her sisters, dead for many years. Her voice, as she pronounced the name, was cold and formal, her pronunciation clipped and terse.

"Deirdre?" He repeated it slowly. "Deirdre . . . Now that is an unusual name here in Britain. Forgive me . . ." He reached out and grasped her gently by the chin. She heard Dyllis gasp beside her, and for a moment she was afraid that the girl would betray her simply by her indignation. Uther tilted her head slightly to the side, towards the closest lamp. She wanted to resist, but then thought better of it and allowed him to move her face closer to the light. But his next words made her jerk her head free of his grasp and set the room spinning about her.

"You are not Deirdre of the Violet Eyes, however . . . I can see that."

By the time she could recapture her breath and brace herself for whatever he might say next, he had lost interest in her and moved on to the woman on her left, a voluptuous young beauty, only slightly overweight, called Amaryllis. Then she watched him, gradually mastering the fear that had flared in her, as he moved down the line, asking each woman her name.

When he had spoken to each one of them except Morgas, he stepped back and addressed them all, and against her will Ygraine found herself thinking that his voice was attractive, deep and resonant and mellifluous.

"I have ill tidings for you now, I fear, ladies. We will be remaining here in this valley for the next ten days, at least."

All along the line of twelve women, there were mutterings and outright gasps of consternation. Uther stemmed all of them by raising his hand.

"I regret the necessity of confining you here, but we have little choice . . . we can hardly release you to report our presence or our whereabouts, can we? It pains me, however, that we had not expected the company of women, and so we had no time to make arrangements for your presence. I can only hope that you will be comfortable with what we have been able to provide, lacking any warning.

"As you know, this tent will be yours while you arc here with us, and you will be safe here as long as you remain discreetly inside and do not go wandering through the encampment. I'm sure I have no need to remind you that the men all around you are soldiers, and enemy soldiers at that. They are unused to having women close by while they are on campaign, and they tend to think of women— when they think of them at all, which is constantly—as part of the plunder. There is nothing I can do at this late stage to reeducate them quickly on that matter. However, they are not bad men, and for the most part they are disciplined and well behaved. They are far from being wild animals, no matter what you may have been told to the contrary. The guards I have assigned to you can contain them and will protect you from them should the need arise, but only if you co-operate, and certainly not if you provoke the men's lusts by bringing yourselves to their attention. Simply by making yourselves visible, you will generate more than enough provocation to violence. Have I made myself clear on that?"

"Perfectly." The word, dripping with disdain, came from Morgas. "And now that you have absolved yourself of responsibility for our eventual ravishment and death by placing the blame squarely upon us in advance, what else have you in store for us?"

Uther had stopped moving as soon as she began to speak, and he held himself motionless until she finished. Only then did he straighten his shoulders and turn his head slowly towards her.

"I will have words for you later, lady. For now, I have none." He turned back to the women. "My men are digging private latrines for you as I speak, working by torchlight. When they are finished, they will fence off a pathway between the entrance to this tent and the site of the latrines, which lie to your left. It will be safe for you to use, and it will be private. On the other side, to the right of the main entrance, we will build a temporary bathhouse for your needs. It will be a Roman-style, military bathhouse, but very basic, lacking a furnace and steam room. The water might not be very hot, but neither will it be completely cold, and the sides will be screened for your safety.

"We will feed you from one of our commissary wagons, and while we are encamped you will have a hot meal, with fresh-cooked meat, every night. For the rest of the time, you will eat what our men eat and when they eat." He looked about him again. "There are twelve of you. Twelve cots will be delivered here within the hour. There should be ample room for everyone."

Morgas spoke again. "There are thirteen of us, not twelve."

Uther turned and looked at her again, then raised a hand to Huw, who stepped aside and went to the doorway, where he spoke to one of the guards outside. A moment later, two more men entered the tent, ordinary troopers identically dressed. Uther stood motionless as the two crossed to stand one on either side of Morgas, who remained seated, a picture of icy detachment. Despite herself, Ygraine felt a flicker of admiration for her deputy and for the performance she was delivering.

Uther moved to stand in front of Morgas, looking down at her.

"You may take the chair with you if you so wish, lady, and if you insist, we will even carry you while you yet sit upon it, but you are not staying here with your women. You are going where I can keep my eye on you." He raised a hand to quell the instant surge of protest that arose from the women and spoke over the noise. "Your Queen will be safe enough, I promise you. Bear in mind, this woman has been wed to Gulrhys Lot. After such misfortune as that, I can promise all of you that she will come to no harm at my hands. I take her from you only because I cannot believe the gods have rendered Gulrhys Lot's Queen into my care, and I do not intend to lose her to any cause or condition." He glanced back to Morgas. "So, milady, I hope you do not snore, for only the wall of a tent will keep the sound of it from me. I, of course, do not snore."

He jerked his head to the guards and turned back again to face the row of women as Morgas rose to her feet and left with the two guards, accepting the soft woollen cloak that Huw held out to her as she walked past him. All twelve women were watching Uther, quiet and wide-eyed, and none of them as much as glanced at Morgas.

He looked at them and nodded. "You will all be safe here, believe me. Sleep well." Then he bowed and moved to the flapped doorway, where he ducked his head and disappeared, closely followed by Huw Strongarm.

Ygraine stood frowning, wondering what had happened here. She had prepared Morgas to seduce Uther, but neither of them had been prepared for him simply to abduct her. And yet, a voice inside her head was telling her, Uther could scarcely have clone anything more suitable to her own designs, for in removing Morgas from the company of the other women, he had preserved Ygraine against her greatest fear: that over time, in such constrained quarters and under the constant vigilance of guards, one or another of the women must betray by act or word or gesture, or even through simple deference, that it was she who was the Queen and not Morgas.