Jack Whyte - Uther

After leaving the scene of the ambush, they encountered no other hostile activity along the way. They were able to keep hunting parties ranging ahead of them at all times, and to everyone's surprise and pleasure, the hunters were invariably successful. The marchers dined on venison almost every day, and in the early stages of their journey, in what appeared to be a reversal of their bad luck, they even found a burned-out farmstead with a pair of granaries that were almost full, one of them holding oats and the other wheat. They found them by accident, for the small buildings had been cunningly hidden in a dense copse more than a hundred paces from the farm buildings by a farmer clever enough to anticipate that it might be to his benefit to have a hoard that was not plainly visible. Unfortunately, it had done him and his family little good, for the marauders who came upon his farm had burned the place down about his ears anyway, evidently killing him and his whole family, without discovering the hoard of grain.

Eight days after that, lit and healthy, the returning raiders reached the point of their journey closest to Camulod, and the following morning Popilius Cirro and his thousand men split away from the Cambrian contingent and made their way without ceremony north by west for the last short stage of the journey home. Uther was sorely tempted to interrupt his own ride home in order to go with them, even for a brief visit, for the young boy in him still tended to think of Camulod, uneasily, from time to time, as his true home. He told himself that it was important that he visit the Legates Titus and Flavius, or whoever was in charge in Camulod nowadays, in order to pass on his news about the impending spring invasion, and for a time he almost yielded to the urge, but his common sense would not allow him to deceive himself that thoroughly, and so he grudgingly steeled himself against the lure of Camulod and its luxuries. Instead he spent an entire evening with Popilius Cirro, first outlining and then detailing and emphasizing the crucial instructions he wished the veteran commander to pass on to the authorities in Camulod.

Uther knew that his relationship with Ygraine, Herliss and Lagan Longhead was still a secret, and that Popilius Cirro knew and suspected nothing. He knew, too, that in order to safeguard that relationship, since the lives of his new friends depended upon it, he must be extremely careful in what he said about Lot's planned invasion the following spring and in the way he presented the idea, because he could not afford to provoke any curiosity about his advice or to suggest to anyone, even indirectly, that he might be in possession of secret or privileged information about Lot's plans. He could not even acknowledge the truth to his own people, simply from fear that any one of them might let the secret slip in a careless moment, not out of malice but out of sheer human fallibility.

He decided that he would have to conceal his knowledge and present his convictions as a set of strongly worded reservations and suggestions based upon opinions and insights that he had gathered during his campaign in Cornwall. His task would lie in presenting them with sufficient authority to elicit an immediate and positive response from the Camulodian high command. If he could word it properly through Popilius, he knew that would suffice, for once the initial work was begun, he himself could add further details and substance to what was happening when he visited Camulod himself at a later date.

He spent hours talking to Popilius, and when he was convinced that he could not improve upon the other's understanding of the situation or increase his awareness of the urgency and strength of his convictions, Uther nodded, indicating his satisfaction. Then he asked the older man to pass along his love and filial affection to his grandmother, Luceiia Britannicus, and his promise to ride back and visit Camulod as soon as he could, in hopes of finding his Cousin Merlyn restored to full and active health. Only then did he allow the Camulodian detachment to strike out for home, carrying their few seriously wounded in their remaining wagons. Then, not even waiting to watch the infantry column until it was out of sight, he signalled to his trumpeter and set his own Dragons and his large contingent of bowmen back on the road for Cambria and Tir Manha.

Even in Tir Manha, however, Uther's Luck remained in force. They arrived back to find themselves the healthiest group in the entire countryside, and before they had been at home for three days, they themselves were beginning to succumb to the pestilence that had swept all of Cambria with the onset of autumn that year. It was not a fatal disease, whatever it was, but it was debilitating, frustrating and painful. Its symptoms were a high fever accompanied by vomiting and loose bowels, and a painful rash that itched unbearably as it began to heal -which it seemed to do after a period ranging from four to six days. The rash then scabbed over as the result of the scratching, and afterwards left small but permanent pits in the skin when the scabs had fallen away.

Uther himself was one of the first of his party to come down with the sickness several days before the Samhain equinox, and because he was the King, he had all the wisdom of the local Druids, and all of the lore they had garnered collectively about the sickness, directed towards his well-being. He was constantly reminded not to scratch the itch, unless he wished to disfigure himself and endanger his own kingship, since it was a matter of law that a King must be physically whole and completely unblemished. And so for the duration of his sickness Uther remained in his private quarters and submitted to the gentle baiting of Garreth Whistler, whose health was, for the time being, in flawless perfection, and to the gentler, more considerate ministrations of his mother and her women as they bathed him in a mixture of oatmeal and cold water to combat the unbearable itch that covered his arms, shoulders, back and torso.

Time passed, and so did the sickness, but the Samhain celebrations were poorly observed that year because their occurrence coincided with the worst of the outbreak, and even by the time the Roman holiday of Saturnalia came by, towards the end of December, Tir Manha still had not returned to normal.

That changed with the new year, and Uther found himself thankful that January arrived with a mildness that was most unusual. He had regained his strength by that time and was lit again, ready for the task that faced him, so that when Aelle of Carmarthen arrived at Tir Manha, Uther was pacing the floor impatiently, fretting to get to work.

Aelle was the closest thing the Pendragon Federation had to a seagoing warrior. His father had been a ship-builder, and Aelle himself had studied the art, but had soon discovered that he would far rather sail ships than build them. He had handed his interest in the shipyard over to his younger brother in return for a galley of his own, and had then assembled a crew and begun sailing up and down the coast, trading for whatever he could find. Because he and his crew had had to fight for what they held, Aelle of Carmarthen had earned himself a reputation over the years as a doughty fighter, and now he captained a trio of formidable galleys.

Uther took Aelle into his own chambers, where they would not be disturbed, and told him openly all that he knew of Lot's invasion plans for the months ahead. Which of the spots along the coast, he asked, would be most suitable for landing an army and would also be most likely to attract the eye of an invading general?

Aelle listened soberly and sat staring into middle distance as he reviewed in his mind the possible sites. Finally, the seafarer sat up and sucked in a great breath.

"I have five places, all within a day's march of here, north or south—chosen out of a possible half score, mind you—but they're all this side of the Severn. Think you the Cornish whoresons will strike for you here in Tir Manha?"