Jack Whyte - Uther

Now he could take time to savour the satisfaction, and in the act of pouring a mug of beer, Meradoc suddenly realized that he was ravenous. He gulped at the foaming beer, then put it down again and ripped a wedge of bread from the large loaf on the table in front of him. digging a hole in the soft centre with his fingers and stuffing it with several of the small, crisp-skinned, strongly smoked fish he had loved ever since early boyhood, feeling the saliva spurting beneath his tongue as their strong, salty odour filled his nostrils. Clamping the folded wedge of bread tightly, he raised it to his mouth, but before he bit into it he caught sight of Janus, his most trusted man, watching him from his position against the far wall of the room. Meradoc paused, anticipating the bite he was about to take, and beckoned the man over with a toss of his head. Janus was beside him in two strides.

"I sent Petifax to fetch the old man, Cativelaunus. He hasn't come back. Find him and send him to me. Then find Owain. Tell him I want to see him within the hour in my tent. But find Petifax first."

As Meradoc was speaking, a shadow darkened the doorway as Daris, the High Priest, paused awkwardly on the threshold. Meradoc watched him step inside, silent, wondering what had made the Druid stop the way he had. Daris had seen him and was looking at him strangely.

"He is dead," the Druid said.

Meradoc blinked, uncomprehending, wondering it' by some freak chance Daris had heard about Uther's murder.

"Who is?" he asked, aware that he still held the bread up in front of his mouth.

"Your man, Petifax."

"What?" Meradoc had heard the words, but their meaning had not yet penetrated.

"Petifax is dead. Cativelaunus killed him."

"Cative—?" Meradoc stood staring, his thoughts tumbling over each other. All sound in the room had died and he knew that everyone was listening, waiting for his reaction, but for long moments he had no words with which to respond. Finally he jerked his head in a short, sharp negative. "That can't be. I sent him to bring the old man to me."

"I know, and he tried too hard. He laid hold of 'Launus and tried to drag him here. 'Launus killed him where he stood."

"By the swarming gods! Where is he?"

Daris raised an eyebrow. "Who, 'Launus or Petifax? 'Launus is gone, I don't know where, but your man Petifax is lying out in front of the hut."

Meradoc threw his untasted bread onto the table and strode to the door, shouldering Daris aside as he passed, aware of the others crowding behind him. He saw the sprawled body immediately from the doorway and stopped short, so that someone following too close behind bumped into him, pushing him forward through the exit. Ignoring the jostling, Meradoc gathered himself, taking a firm grip on his shock, and made himself walk forward slowly, ignoring the others as his eyes swept the space ahead of him.

There were several people standing around gaping, but the body lay in a space of its own and was very obviously lifeless. Meradoc kept moving, more and more slowly, until he was within touching distance of the dead man. Someone else passed by him and stopped even closer to the corpse. Because he was looking down at Petifax, Meradoc could only see the other's lower legs, but he knew it was young Huw Strongarm.

"He's dead, no doubt of that." The young Chief's voice was very mild.

"Aye," Meradoc muttered, his voice choked with fury. "And I'll be—"

"And so he should be, the fool."

Meradoc glanced up, his eyes wide with disbelief. "What do you mean?"

The Pendragon glanced quickly at him, and then his eyes returned to the body at their feet. "What kind of fool lays unwelcome hands on a ruling Chief ? A soon-to-be-dead fool! This idiot obviously thought he was dealing with an impotent old man. Hah!" The bark of laughter was savage, belying the age of the boy from whom it issued. "Old 'Launus, impotent? I'll wager Petifax didn't even see the stroke that killed him. He was lucky. Cativelaunus could have had him flayed alive, as an example to others. I once watched my father chop the hands off a drunkard who attacked him on a dark night, not even knowing he was a Chief. It's the one law that no one ever is allowed to break: lay hands on a Chief and die."

Meradoc was staring wide-eyed at the younger man, gritting his teeth and forcing himself to quell his anger. Huw Strongarm's conviction was absolute, and Meradoc knew that he himself, despite his fury, was going to have to accept the younger man's judgment as the verdict of all other thinking men. What Huw had said was true, and had the dead man not been one of Meradoc's own closest and most trusted confederates, then Meradoc himself would have been the first to condemn him and swear that Petifax had earned the death that claimed him. But Petifax had been his man! And so this killing was a challenge to his strength and should be—must be—punished. But there were politics involved, matters of great delicacy, so this was not the time to rant and rave.

The Llewellyn inhaled deeply, straightening his spine, stretching his head high and turning his eyes towards the others who now surrounded them, being careful to keep his face calm and empty of expression. Vengeance he would have, he swore to himself; Cativelaunus would die for this, but later, and in secret. In the meantime, he had spent too much time courting and cultivating Huw Strongarm's good regard to jeopardize it now. Even the thought of risking the young man's vote chilled him as it occurred to him. An abstention by Huw Strongarm, combined with the antipathy of the two old fools from the northeast, would make three votes against his three Llewellyn votes and give the final Choosing vote to the High Priest. The thought of that was not pleasant, for Meradoc knew in his deepest soul that even without Uther Pendragon's competition, Daris, given the chance, would cast a vote for interregnum before he would back Meradoc. He let out his breath slowly, then reached out one foot and slid his toe beneath the dead man's wrist before pushing the lifeless arm to lie closer to the body.

"Aye," he said quietly. "Petifax was hotheaded, and sometimes foolish because of it. He was ever . . . obedient, nonetheless, and I had sent him to bring 'Launus to speak with me. I meant, of course, that he should ask the Chief to join me, but I might not have made that clear enough. Who would have thought I'd need to? But Petifax was not of our people, and so I sent the poor fool to his death . . ." He stopped, then shook his head sorrowfully for the benefit of those around him.

"Farewell, then, Petifax. I prized you for your loyalty, but never for your brains."

No one else spoke, and Meradoc looked over to where some of the loiterers stood watching the gathering of Chiefs. He pointed to the largest of them.

"You there, the big fellow. Pick out a couple of your friends to help you take this body and dispose of it. Bury him deep, and then report to me for the reward you will have earned. And mind you treat him well—he was a faithful follower of mine. Handle his body with respect and bring his weapons safely back to me. I'll pay you well." He swung back to the others. "Come, my friends," he said, his voice filled with sadness. "There's naught more we can do for Petifax, except remember him. He fell foul of the law and died for it. Come you and drink with me to Petifax's death and to the life he led."

As the group filed back into the stone hut, Janus sidled close to his Chief.

"You still want me to find Owain. Master?"

"I do, but I will meet him later, now that this has happened. Tell him to come to me after the evening meal."

The drinking to the memory of Petifax grew into an evening- long carousal, and Daris left early, knowing he had a hundred things to do before the fall of night.

Sometime after the Druid's departure, Janus returned with word for Meradoc that Owain of the Caves was nowhere to be found and had evidently left the encampment. Meradoc was angry at first, but he soon convinced himself that he should be tolerant of his servant's laxity. The man had done good work, and he had been gone in the doing of it for a month. He deserved a night to himself. . .