Jack Whyte - Uther

"That is the fifth time I've seen Meradoc smile since we arrived here, and it's been what, an hour? Less than that."

Daris turned to smile at his old friend Cativelaunus of Carmarthen, amused as always by the elder man's acerbity. "He does seem to be trying very hard to be pleasant."

"Aye, but five smiles in an hour from that one tells me we all ought to be looking about us. Something's in the wind, and if it pleases him, I know I'll retch when I snout it . . . So, there's been no word of Uther?"

"Not a sound. Nothing at all. I think I'm relieved, too—at least, part of me is."

The old Chief looked at the High Priest sideways, one white, bushy eyebrow raised high in scorn. "What part of you is that? Can't be your reason—it's plain that's gone. You're glad the Pendragon's not here? When did this madness take you?"

"Shush!" Daris glanced towards the others, thinking some of them might have overheard what Cativelaunus said. They were all watching Meradoc, however, seeming to hang on his words, and the hectic flush on the Llewellyn Chief's wide-cheeked face showed that he was enjoying being the centre of attention. Cativelaunus blinked with surprise at being told to shush and started to draw himself up defiantly, but then he hesitated and nodded, dropping his voice and slouching his shoulders.

"What, too loud? Well, I'll tell you, my old friend, if this one comes to be the King, we'll all be whispering from that moment forth. Step outside with me. I need clean air."

As Cativelaunus spoke, Brynn of Y Gaer, the other Griffyd Chief and second only to his friend in age, walked up and spoke almost into his ear. "Clean air?" he said mildly. "I'll come, too."

"No, that you'll not," Cativelaunus said, without even turning to look at him. "You'll stay here and keep their thoughts away from what we're up to. If all three of us walk out, we'll be followed. If you stay here without me and make yourself seen and heard, they might not even notice I'm not here. Talk to them about the Choosing and find out how they all stand, as if we didn't know. I need to speak with Daris."

Brynn pursed his lips, ducked his head in a gesture that clearly said, "Very well, I'll try," and sauntered away again, headed directly to the group surrounding Meradoc, where he shouldered his way gently into the press. Someone spoke to him, asking him a question, and as he began to respond Cativelaunus caught Daris's eye and nodded his head slightly towards the open half-door of the stonewalled hut. The two moved slowly out the door into bright sunshine and walked away until a good twenty paces lay between them and the doorway.

The stone hut they had just left was the only permanent building in the smaller encampment known as the Chiefs' Camp, and it had been built in the distant past for private meetings of assembled Chiefs. Its doors were never guarded, for there was no need. For generations past, the hut had been the Chiefs' precinct alone, and no others ever approached it without being summoned.

There were people moving about in the bright afternoon, but none of them paid any attention to the Druid and his white-headed companion. Cativelaunus stopped and looked about him.

"This is far enough. I don't care if they see us speaking, so be that they can't hear us. High Priest and Chief, we two can talk all we want, but if Brynn joined us, those idiots would smell a plot. . . Tell me, then, what are we to do tomorrow noon without Uther? Withhold our votes? Meradoc would take that ill. Might as well stick out our necks for sacrifice. Or should we simply vote for him and accept that, at the end, our lives and our beliefs and all the things we've ever stood for or represented have been worth nothing and we have chosen a bad King through fear alone?"

Daris frowned as he listened. He had known that Cativelaunus had no great love for Meradoc, but this was more than he had expected. The old man's eyes were hard and grim, and his questions were delivered as a verdict rather than a query. Daris shook his head, searching for words.

"I don't think it will be that bad, old friend. He'll not be perfect, I'll grant you, but what King ever is? I've thought long and hard on this, and have decided—unwillingly—that he's the lesser of the two evils—"

"Lesser of the two—? Daris, you are mad! How could you even begin to believe that? Pendragon is—"

"Pendragon is absent, 'Launus. And that is by his own choice. Uther wants no part of being King. That is obvious. Had he felt otherwise, he would be here today."

"He's been delayed! Something has kept him back."

"No, I will not accept that! His father has been dead these past weeks, 'Launus. The summons went out to you and all the others a fortnight past. And it is four days, at most, from Camulod to here. Uther Pendragon is not here because he does not want to be here."

"Then why has our messenger not come back to tell us that? Knowing what must happen now, he would be bound to let us know as soon as he knew."

Daris shrugged. "The only thing I know is that Uther Pendragon has not come, and now he is too late."

"He's not too late. The Choosing won't begin until tomorrow noon. He could be here come morning."

"Aye, and what would he achieve? Which of the Chiefs would choose him now?"

"I would!"

"I know that. You would vote for him, and so would Brynn. What then?"

"Young Huw Strongarm would vote for him. He's Pendragon."

"Aye, that he is, and his vote, with Uther's, would give you four of seven, beyond doubt or dispute . . . but I doubt now that Huw would vote for Uther. My gut tells me he might not."

Cativelaunus was outraged and made no attempt to hide it. A man of ancient honour and tradition, he found it inconceivable that blood would not speak out for blood. In words that dripped scorn, he poured abuse on his High Priest for daring to suggest that young Huw Pendragon might be seduced away from the strict path of honour.

Daris stood listening until the old Chief ran out of words, and then he nodded. "Tell me," he asked mildly, "what is the sworn duty of each Chief on the day of the Choosing?"

"To pick the best man present to fill the King's seat." The answer was immediate, without the slightest hesitation.

"And how do you—you personally, I mean—decide whom to vote for?"

Cativelaunus hesitated now, scowling. "I . . . I judge each candidate, and then I pick the one I've decided is best."

"The very best, or the best present ?"

"Damn you, Daris, you know as well as I do. The very best might be a thousand times better than the next in line, but if he's not there for the Choosing, then he might as well be dead. The Chiefs assembled are constrained to choose the best man there. That's why I'm so angry at Uther."

"Forget Uther, for the moment, 'Launus. Think about young Huw Strongarm. His duty is the same as yours: to judge the man he believes best suited for the kingship from among those present. Family loyalty can play no role in the Choosing. It never has before; it should not now. Huw, just like you, must make a choice and vote on it according to the prompting of his honour. I believe he has done so and that his choice has fallen upon Meradoc. Huw is young and headstrong and impressionable, but he's no fool. He sees strength in Meradoc. And I believe he sees weakness in Uther."

"How can you say that?"

Daris shrugged. "I have heard Huw speak on this matter, and he professed grave doubts about Uther's suitability as a King."

"Pshaw! And what about Meradoc's lacks? The gods all know there are enough of those."

"The criteria Huw was applying to his measurement of Uther were ably answered in Meradoc. Huw was concerned mainly about Uther's constant absences and about his lack of responsibility for his own duties even now. He wondered how such things would affect Uther if he were King."