Jack Whyte - Uther

Ygraine nodded and came straight to the point that had been circling in her brain all night. "He must escape. Herliss must escape."

"Escape . . . How, and to what, lady? Lot will have him hanged as soon as he sees him, if Herliss survives long enough to be taken back that far. Don't forget he has already been outlawed and named a traitor. Anyone who sees him now is free to strike him down on sight."

"That will not happen, not if he is with me and my guards. No one would dare approach us then, and Lot would be powerless to act against us, if we were to win home free."

"Ah! You are to escape, then, too, and your Erse bodyguard. Forgive me, I missed seeing that." Uther covered the entire lower part of his face with his hand, but he could not conceal the mirth in his dancing eyes.

Ygraine ignored his sarcastic tone completely. She frowned. "You disbelieve me?"

"No, no, lady, truly, I believe you." He waved his hand in denial. "I believe you absolutely . . ." He paused, struggling against his own amusement. "What. . . forgive me . . . what I fail to understand, though, is how you can expect me to accept what you are saying, because if I understand you correctly, you are suggesting that I should simply permit you and all your people to ride off from here, unhampered and unharmed."

"You distrust me, then."

He blinked once, slowly and deliberately, and then shook his head. "It is not a matter of trust, lady. It is common sense. Why should I do such a thing as to allow you to escape? You are my prisoner. My only hostage. I would be mad to let you simply walk away."

"Of course you would be, were there no advantage to you in doing so." There was no trace of humour in the Queen's face or bearing.

"Ah! Then you believe it would be to my advantage to permit this . . . escape?"

"Of course it would. If, of course, you believe me and trust me."

"I see. Well, let me think on that for a moment or two . . . you must see that it is a novel adventure for me to consider placing either trust or belief in anyone or anything having anything to do, however remotely, with Lot of Cornwall . . . And what about your women, on the road to Camulod since yesterday? Are they to be abandoned, or are they to escape, too, while on the road?"

"Yes—"

"Of course they are. I could see that coming. But how? How are they to escape? And then where will you all go once you have won free? To Eire?"

"No, I have already said Herliss is too old to leave his homeland. We will return to Lot, wherever he may be now."

"To Lot? You will return to Lot. Despite everything you said last night about divorcing him?"

"No, I will return to Lot because of everything I said last night about divorcing him."

Uther's his eyes flicked from Ygraine to Dyllis and then back again. "Explain that, if you would."

Ygraine stood up quickly, her face flushed suddenly with anger. "Gods, man! Can you not see? I should not have to explain something so obvious—" She stopped as suddenly as she had begun and stood glaring at him, clenching and unclenching her fists and breathing deeply through pinched nostrils. Then she spun to look at Dyllis, who was staring at her, her eyes wide with awe and something else that might have been consternation. "How many men are guarding this tent right now?" Her back was to Uther, but there was no doubt that she was speaking to him.

"Two. And their captain, Nemo, is close by."

"Then will you send them away? Ask them to escort Dyllis while she takes a walk for half an hour. You and I must talk alone."

Plainly mystified, Uther rose to his feet and crossed to the flap of the tent, where he stuck his head out and ordered one of the guards to bring Nemo to him immediately. Nemo could have been no more than ten paces distant for she was there almost before Uther had swung his head back into the tent, and she stepped directly inside and snapped to attention. Uther kept his gaze steadily on Ygraine as he ordered the captain to take the Lady Dyllis and her two guards and to conduct all three on a long walk that would keep them clear of the tent for at least an hour.

When they had all gone, he perched himself on top of the two footlockers again and sat gazing at Ygraine, who stared directly back at him, making no attempt to speak. The silence between them stretched and grew until it began to approach the point at which it would become a challenge and a matter of stubbornness, but before it did so, Uther grinned wryly and nodded, as though conceding victory.

"Well, lady? You wanted to talk . . ."

"How well do you know my brother, Donuil?"

"Not well. I barely know him at all. He is my cousin Merlyn's friend."

"A friend, you say. But is he a true friend? Or is he a coddled favourite, a pampered pet? What are you smiling at? Do you find me amusing?"

He held up a hand as though to fend her off. "No, lady, I do not, but by the gods you are prickly. What was amusing me was the thought of your enormous brother bowing his head meekly to be petted like a puppy." He shook his head, all sign of humour vanishing. "No, lady, they are friends and I can tell you positively that your brother Donuil must have earned that ranking and the privilege that goes with it. The trust between the two of them is solid and deep- rooted. That I know."

When Ygraine responded to that, her voice sounded slightly mollified, but she was still plainly unconvinced. "You know, you say. But how much do you know, in truth? How well do you really know this cousin of yours, this Merlyn?"

Now Uther was sombre. "Better than any other person in the world. We were raised almost as twins. There is no man in the world more dear to me than he is."

"And he feels the same way towards you?"

There was no mistaking the pain that underlay the long hesitation that stretched between that question and its answer; she saw it in his eyes and heard it in his voice when he finally responded. "He—he used to . . . It is my hope that he still does."

"Why would you doubt it?"

"I . . . I told you yesterday, he is not himself. . ."

"But there is something else that makes you hesitate . . ."

He shrugged again, dismissing the thought. "It was long ago, and he suspected me of a misdeed—one that was evil, worthy of punishment . . . But I doubt that I would have judged the event as harshly as Merlyn did. He could be very narrow-minded in his judgments. In my case, I was innocent of the crime. I took more pain from thinking he could believe I might do such a thing than from anything he ever did or said to me concerning it."

"Very well, then." She sat gazing at him, clearly thinking about what she would say next. "You obviously admire your cousin greatly, so I must ask you this: why does Lot call him a coward?"

To her astonishment, Uther Pendragon threw back his head and laughed, a great, booming shout of enjoyment. "A coward! Caius Merlyn Britannicus, a coward? Ah, lady. Lot calls Merlyn a coward because he cannot suffer people to suspect the simple truth: that Merlyn Britannicus is everything that Gulrhys Lot can never hope to be. Lot would shit himself with fear if ever he found himself within a mile of coming face to face with Merlyn of Camulod. He hates Merlyn, not simply for being a formidable enemy and an upstanding man, but for being the person that he is. Oh, he fears him, too, but mainly he hates him, because Merlyn stood by and witnessed Lot's first downfall at my hands, when he and I were twelve years old and Lot was fourteen or fifteen, bigger than both of us."

"What are you talking about? Did you know Lot that long ago?"

Uther sat straight up and looked away from her as he came to grips with what he had just heard. She watched him closely, seeing the puzzled frown on his brow, and then the way his face lightened as he turned back to her.