Jack Whyte - Uther

Uther's Cambrian scouts, predominantly Pendragon bowmen, ranged as far as three miles ahead of the main army at all times, forming a moving, semicircular screen around the advancing troops, and they were the ones who monopolized such fighting as there was, surprising small, unsuspecting groups of enemy warriors, many of them hunting parties, and dispatching them swiftly and effectively from hundreds of paces away.

Despite the lack of a tangible, physical presence, however, it was plain to Uther's people that the enemy had been here recently, for the entire land lay ravaged in the aftermath of the Outlanders' revolt. Burned and ruined buildings lay everywhere they looked: huts, cottages, roundhouses and longhouses, many of them built of wood and recognizable now only by the shape of their charred remnants. They found larger settlements, too, where people had congregated in hamlets and permanent encampments, usually at a crossroads of some description, although the "roads" were frequently little more than well-worn tracks or livestock trails, and close to those settlements, all of them ruined and abandoned, the Camulodians could not fail to note, mainly because of the inescapable stench, the rotting corpses that hung from almost every tree.

Garreth Whistler brought it to Uther's attention that among the burned-out buildings, most of those that had been built of stone had had their walls pushed down after the fires, after the roof trees had fallen in, because the fallen stones of the walls invariably lay on top of the charred timbers and ashes of the thatched roofs. Plainly the damage had been more than a mere incidental by-product of war. These buildings had been demolished deliberately in order to deprive local people of shelter and living space.

Uther nodded and took careful note of the fact, filing the information away for retrieval later when he could think about it properly. For the time being, he had other matters on his mind, not the least of which concerned Ygraine's whereabouts. He had blindly expected her to contact him when he entered Cornwall. Now, after days of watching and waiting, he had to admit to himself that he had no idea where she might be and no way of discovering whether she was well or unwell, or whether she was free or being confined against her will in one of Lot's many scattered strongholds. The helpless frustration of not knowing dominated everything he tried to do.

Finally, sitting by his own small campfire on a cold night after a long and exhausting day spent ploutering about in fetlock-deep mud and pouring rain, Uther took Garreth Whistler into his full confidence and told him everything about what had happened between him and Ygraine. The King's Champion listened attentively, without attempting to interrupt the tale, and then sat staring silently into the fire after Uther had finished.

He had known, he said, that there was something going on in Uther's mind that was distracting much of his attention from the task at hand. Now that he knew what it was, he felt greatly relieved, particularly since he could tell that Uther was worrying needlessly. When Uther challenged him on that, surprised by such an offhand dismissal of his concern, Garreth merely shrugged and pointed out that the Queen was at the full term of her pregnancy, a cruel and demanding time for any woman, when her mind must be awash with fears and concerns over her own life and death, and with the entire spectrum of birth and survival and the health and welfare of both herself and her first-born child. Unrealistic, he grunted, for Uther to expect that she might make the time to sit down, empty her mind of her own concerns and write him a letter, even had she the freedom and a willing, trustworthy scribe to write for her.

He pointed out, too, that she had also told Uther openly in her last letter, by his own admission, that she was beset and surrounded by Lot's spies and was being closely watched, and that she had been able to write to him on that occasion thanks only to the god-sent, unexpected opportunity presented by the wandering priest who had visited her. Would she, then, be tempted to destroy herself and her child, the Champion asked, by entrusting any kind of message to the people surrounding her simply in the hope of soothing his troubled brow? Uther's fretting was pointless and illogical, since common sense could explain the Queen's silence. Besides, he growled, it was unworthy, womanish behaviour for a King at the head of an army that looked to him for manhood and leadership.

Uther's natural reaction to this was to bluster and object, but Garreth Whistler gave him no chance. Presumably, he continued, Ygraine had not yet come to the birthing stage. After all, had the birthing been successful and produced an heir born to his legitimate Queen, Lot would have had the tidings trumpeted from every dunghill in Cornwall. Had it been otherwise, had anything happened to Ygraine or to her child, be it male or female, that word would also be abroad in the land, whether Lot wished it or no. But word of neither event had been heard, so Garreth thought it safe to assume that there had been no birth yet.

Uther listened and was grateful, although he knew that nothing in Garreth's words spoke of Ygraine's welfare. The fate of the child's mother would mean less than nothing to Gulrhys Lot compared to the reality of having a son of his own. If there were the slightest question of choice, of the life and health of one over the other, Ygraine would die as soon as the question was defined. The birth of a daughter, on the other hand, would be unimportant to Lot, but it would remove both mother and child from danger.

Listening to the Whistler's words, Uther dismissed his anger and became convinced that he had been worrying needlessly and prematurely, for the hard-headed truths Garreth was uttering were exactly the kind of sensible, pragmatic direction and opinion he had come to expect from this extraordinary man. Garreth Whistler had now been Champion to three Pendragon Kings, having transferred his allegiance naturally and easily to King Uric upon the death of Ullic Pendragon, and Uther had been greatly pleased, when he himself had become King on his own father's death, that Garreth Whistler had agreed to serve as his Champion, in turn.

Uther was still thinking about the Whistler, smiling in appreciation of a loyal friend, as he lay down on his cot that night, and he slept better than he had in a long time.

Three days after that conversation, a letter arrived that changed everything, brought into camp at dusk by a messenger who carried Uther's own ring, the one he had left with the Queen, on a leather thong about his neck. The fellow carried Ygraine's letter securely bound at the small of his back, five large pages of fine papyrus covered in a strong but concise and clearly legible hand and folded lengthwise into a soft, narrow leather pouch.

Much news, little time to tell it. This must be completed and gone within the hour, a fleeting chance gained when least expected. I am speaking it aloud to Joseph, my priest and confessor, who has arrived at the perfect time to write this for me.

Your son is born and he is beautiful, the image of his father, save that he has shining, wondrous eyes of yellow gold, the like of which I have never seen. He came to us three weeks ago at the second hour of morning, and I have named him Arthur, since you were not here to advise me of any other name. He is glorious to behold, perfect in every detail.

May God defend us, for should this letter be found and read by unfriendly eyes, then we are dead, my babe and I. The man bringing it to you has been known to me all my life. He is Erse, his name is Calum, and he is one of my brother Connor's most trusted men, sent to me in secret, disguised as a mercenary, in order to find out if I am well. Connor wants to take me out of Cornwall, home to my father's Hall in Eire. Calum will return to my home when he leaves you, bearing the tale of my misery, although he knows naught of me and you, or of our son, and soon Connor will come to take me home.