Jack Whyte - The Saxon Shore

"So Uther is gone, irrevocably. May God look kindly upon him. I knew the truth of it as soon as I first heard the rumour, although he had always seemed so invulnerable." She looked directly into my eyes now, and her gaze was clear and sharp. "I mourned for him then. Sadly, there is no time to mourn further now. How are you, Nephew? And what prompted you to search for Uther? When you left, you said merely that you had to be alone for a time, to come to terms with yourself, that you had no idea where your wanderings might take you."

There was no censure in her voice, and I knew that she yet harboured no suspicion of the vengeful anger that had driven me in pursuit of my cousin. I saw no need to mention it now and cause her further pain, so I merely shook my head and evaded her question.

"I am well, Auntie, but sickened by what I saw in Cornwall and the south, the appalling waste of life and young men. Lot of Cornwall is dead, too, did you know that?"

"No, but I am glad to hear of it. He was an evil man. Are you sure of his death, or is it a report?"

"No. I found him myself, and cut him down from the tree where he had been hanged. Who hanged him we may never know, but it was effectively done. His hands and feet had been severed and hung in a bag about his neck. A richly worked bag that bore the arms of Pendragon. I would have ascribed the death to Uther personally, but that one of the severed hands yet wore the seal of Cornwall and I cannot see Uther leaving that for the Fates to dispose of. He would have taken it as proof of lot's death, if for no other reason. So would any of his men who sought to impress Uther with his zeal and loyalty. It is a mystery, I suppose, that will never be solved."

"Did you remove it?"

"Aye. I have it here, with Uther's own." I pulled the small leather bag from my scrip and passed it to her. She untied the drawstring and tipped the contents into her palm, immediately setting aside the seal of Gulrhys Lot with distaste upon a small table and fingering the great gold signet of Pendragon with its dragon crest, holding it close to her face to admire the intricacies of the dragon inscribed deeply into its flat oval crown.

"Who will wear this now?" she mused, and then looked up at me and offered it back. "It must be returned. Uther has no heir, so his crown will be assumed by some other, by acclamation or inheritance. It has probably occurred already. He had many uncles and kinsmen. This should belong to one of them."

I drew a deep breath, and spoke softly and clearly. "No, Auntie, both of those rings belong to Uther's heir." She glanced at me sharply, pain in her eyes now, prepared to reprimand me. "He has one," I continued.

Her face went blank, then her eyes took on a new awareness, an excitement. "Where?"

I grimaced. "In Eire, among the Scots, with Donuil's people. He is their heir, too. His name is Arthur."

"Their heir, too?" She paused for the space of three heartbeats, her piercing bright eyes scanning my face. "You have a tale to tell me, Nephew," she said then, glancing around to make sure we were alone. "And I think you have no wish to speak it aloud for other ears. Am I correct?"

I rose and crossed to the double doors of her quarters, leaning out to make sure that no one was nearby before I drew them closed and crossed the room swiftly to ensure that the other door was firmly closed and we were quite alone, and then I returned to share her couch and told her the entire tale of Uther, Ygraine and their son, Arthur. She listened closely, making no attempt to interrupt me while I went on to describe my own adventures with Connor and his Ersemen, and my loss of the child. When I had finished speaking, she stood up and moved to a table against the wall, where a white cloth covered a jug of wine and a bowl of fruit. She poured wine for me and brought it back, and as I accepted it she said, "So this child Arthur is related to you both by blood and marriage, the son of your wife's sister, and the son of your own cousin."

"Aye. Nephew and cousin."

"And heir to Pendragon, and to Camulod."

"More than that, Auntie. He is also heir to Cornwall."

She frowned immediately. "How so? Lot was Cornwall's king, and Arthur is Uther's son. His mother was Hibernian. The child has no claim to Cornwall."

"True," I said. "But only we know that. I am splitting hairs, here, being a sophist, I suppose. But to good purpose. Lot acknowledged the child, publicly at least, as his own, according to Popilius, and left no other children. The child has possession of Gulrhys Lot's own seal. Furthermore he is grandson of the king of the Hibernian Scots."

She gazed at me steadfastly for some time, then nodded. "A potent mixture," she murmured eventually, her voice sounding far away, as though she saw great distances ahead of her.

"Aye, the same thought occurred to me when first I saw him. He is a fine, lusty child, Auntie, and his eyes are yellow gold, as were your brother's." I paused, then smiled as I went on. "I could be wrong, of course, but I fancy the resemblance to Caius Britannicus might run even deeper. The boy's nose is large, even for a babe."

"What? He has Cay's eyes and nose? What of his hair? What colour is that?"

I smiled. "His hair is dark, with a baby's darkness that could change as he grows. Not black, though, Auntie, more a deep, dark brown."

"Dark brown plumage, gold eyes and a Roman beak. You describe a golden eagle, Cay." I merely nodded, smiling still. "How will you get him back, Cay, and more to the point, when? I should like to see this child before I die."

I embraced her, slipping one arm around her frail shoulders. "You will, Auntie, I promise. As soon as Donuil returns from Northumbria or wherever he is, we shall leave for Eire. Has there been any news of him?"

"No, not a word. Will you seek him now?"

I shook my head. "Where would I start? He could arrive from a direction other than the obvious route from the northeast. What point in riding off without knowledge of his whereabouts? He could pass unseen within half a mile of me at any time. I have no choice other than to wait here for his return, in the hope that he will come soon, remembering his five-year sentence has elapsed. His uncle promised to come seeking him at the end of that time. I should hate to end one war and plunge directly into another simply because I could not produce my hostage on demand."

My aunt frowned at that. "Is that likely, Caius?"

I grinned at her and shook my head. "No, not at all, Auntie. I told you, Connor holds the child and knows how highly I value its life. He and his people now have a hostage to my good behaviour."

"How, a hostage? You said he was their heir. You think they might harm the boy, their own kin, should you fail to appear with Donuil?"

"They do not know who he is, Auntie. I did not tell Connor the babe was his sister's. Even so, I doubt that they would harm him. Connor is not a cruel man, and he loves children. I could see that from the way he handled the boy and spoke of his own. When we parted, he gave me a month to deliver Donuil home, alive and in good health, in exchange for the child. I told him then that Donuil's absence on my own behalf might make it impossible for me to meet that expectation, and now it looks as though I was correct. . . but I have no fears of Connor's taking vengeance on the child, lacking real proof of Donuil's death. When Donuil returns, we will journey to Eire. The boy will be safe until then."

She was gazing at me strangely now, a trace of troubled shadow in her eyes. "You have not told me everything, I see, Cay. Why would you not tell this Connor who the infant was? Surely, for the child's safety, that would have been prudent?"

I dipped my head, acknowledging the truth of that. "It would, of course, Auntie, but there were other matters to be taken into account, equally important to the child's safety. The matter of his blood, more than any other. As grandson of Athol, King of Scots, they might have taken him and kept him, thinking his place should be in his grandfather's Hall. I see it otherwise. As the son of Uther Pendragon, his place is here in Britain, in his paternal grandfather's Colony and in his own mountains. That is his heritage. To that end he was born."