Jack Whyte - Uther

Three undisciplined mercenaries were no match for one mounted Camulodian trooper, the Queen knew, and were even less daunting when matched against a Pendragon longbow, but she had wanted Uther to know immediately of the threat at his back. Word had been sent north by sea to Lot, she said, advising him of the change in plans and the return of his army, and Ygraine had no idea what Lot's reaction might be. She did not, however, believe that it would bode any good for Uther, and she wanted him to take nothing for granted.

The Lady Ygraine would be waiting for King Uther as soon as he could come to her, Finn concluded, and she was surrounded by a tight core of loyal followers, including her own bodyguard. The fort in which she was now held was a minor one, well removed from the normal paths of armies and battle, and it had little more than a skeleton garrison, since its present purpose was only to provide a quiet place for the Queen to bear her child, and no one expected any trouble. Her own bodyguard shared garrison duties there and was more than capable of overcoming the others and capturing the place. They would do so as soon as Uther sent her word that he was coming. In the meantime, he said, the lady was in no danger, but she was impatient for him meet her son.

Uther listened to all Finn had to say, nodding from time to time as one point or another registered in his mind, and he soon found himself wishing that he had not been persuaded to besiege the Shelter. Lot's southern army might or might not be approaching him from the rear, but he had time to deal with that, should the problem materialize. What concerned him most now was his own impatience to see his living son.

He instructed Finn to return to the Queen and tell her that he would be coming for her within the week, but before he had even dismissed the man, he was interrupted by the arrival of yet another messenger, this one a Griffyd runner sent by the seaman, Aelle of Carmarthen, whose galley now lay along the coast less than a league south of Lot's present haven. Aelle, sailing northward and hugging the coastline two days earlier, had seen an entire fleet of Erse galleys unloading an army less than ten leagues—between thirty and forty Roman miles—to the north of Uther's current position. The discovery had been unplanned and unlooked for, and Aelle had been fortunate in being concealed from the seaward side by the land against his back. He had turned back southward as soon as he could safely do so, and knowing that Uther's force was headed north and west, he had begun dropping messengers ashore, a league apart from each other, to find and warn the King.

That information took the wind out of Uther's sails. He had guessed wrongly in interpreting the information brought to him earlier, and now he had one army sweeping towards him from the north and another possibly marching towards him from the south. Forcing himself to remain stone-faced and betray none of his thoughts, he thanked the Griffyd clansman and sent him to the commissariat to find food and drink. Then he thanked Finn and dismissed him, too, bidding him return to Ygraine immediately and instruct her to be ready to leave within three days, half the time he had originally named.

As soon as he was alone again, Uther sat down and reviewed his options, and no matter which way he assessed them, they all boiled down to flight: a withdrawal to ground of his own choosing, there to await an attack. He stood up then and went to call for one of his guards, but before he could send the man to look for Popilius Cirro, he found himself listening to a rapidly growing commotion. Curious, he brushed by the guard and stepped outside to where he could hear muffled shouts and sec people straining on tiptoes, trying to see out towards the sea. He noticed one of Huw Strongarm's bowmen running away from the scene, passing close by him, and reached out to grasp the man's arm. The fellow tried to wrench his sleeve free, then stopped as he recognized the King.

"What's happening?" Uther asked.

"A fleet, lord. There's a fleet out there. Hundreds of galleys."

"Have you seen them?"

"Aye, with these." The man pointed at his own eyes.

"Where are you going, then, in such a rush?"

"To tell the Chief."

Uther knew he meant Huw Strongarm. "Good. Find him quickly and send him to me directly. Tell him I'll be here in the command tent. Now hurry. And if you see the Whistler, send him to me, too." He spun back to the guard, who had been standing listening. "Go and find Popilius Cirro for me quick as you can. Tell him I need him now'' He turned then and went back into his tent, fighting the urge to run and gaze out to sea, counting the enemy ships like any of his rank and file. In the shadowed coolness of his tent Uther forced himself to think, refusing to say to himself that this could not be happening, not all at once, mere moments apart on the same day. An army in the south, an army in the north, landed from a fleet, and now a fleet off the coast. He could not remain here, that was clear. Even his men on the cliffs with their fire arrows were now at risk, because the Galloglas army coming from the north had been less than forty miles distant two days earlier and might now be just over the brow of the closest hill to the north. If they arrived before the Pendragon bowmen could be withdrawn from their cliff perches, then the bowmen would be lost, cut off and slaughtered or starved out. They had to be recalled immediately, and even that was going to take a deal of time to achieve, since the isolated bowmen would have to be contacted one by one.

Garreth Whistler arrived quickly, followed moments later by Popilius Cirro, then by Mucius Quinto and Huw Strongarm. A hurried conference generated a quick consensus, and no single person there thought to say a word about forewarnings or their earlier misgivings. The orders were for the army to retreat immediately in good order, and the senior commanders were dispersed to their various tasks.

Uther sent a runner to find Nemo, and when the trooper appeared in answer to the summons, removing her heavy helmet as she entered the tent, Uther waved her to a chair and handed her a large cup of honeyed mead. He had never done the like before, and Nemo accepted it wordlessly, watching closely as Uther sat down across from her on the other side of the brazier, where he lifted his cup in a salute and sipped a mouthful, preparing to say something but evidently not quite ready to speak.

Nemo waited in silence, as always.

Finally Uther smiled. "Do they still call you Hard-Nose?"

Nemo nodded.

"That's because they respect you. You know that, don't you?" Another nod. "Aye . . . and they all think of you as a man. That, my friend, is an astounding achievement. They all think you're a man. Nemo. And yet Nemo means No One. No Name. No Man. That's ironic, is it not? No Man. It's who you have become, and yet it's who you have always been . . . I know who you really are, because you and I have been friends that long. But I never did know your true name."

She frowned, bringing her brows together into a solid bar of black. "Jonet."

"What?"

"Jonet. My real name . . . Jonet. My mother was Naomi. I took her name when I ran away . . . when I met you. Then you called me Nemo. It was close, and I liked it."

"Jonet is your real name? I didn't know that. I prefer Nemo."

"Me too."

"Then Nemo you will remain forever, and Nemo only. I have a task for you. Nemo, a very difficult and dangerous task for one person acting alone. I would never consider asking it of anyone else. Will you undertake it?"

"Aye."

Uther stared at her. "That simply? You don't even know what it is."

Nemo merely blinked, her face unreadable. "I'll do it. What is it?"

"I need you to find a man and bring him to me. His name is Lagan."