Jack Whyte - The Eagles' Brood

There was nothing unusual about this fellow except his eyes, and they were extremely unusual, being bulbous and of different colours. His right eye was so dark brown that it was almost black, the iris barely discernible. His left eye, however, was a brilliant and startling blue. It was a face to frighten children, for it looked as though his skull had been formed without eye sockets, and the eyes had been affixed to the front of his face later, so that they bulged hideously. I wondered what men called him behind his back, for his clothes were rich enough to ensure that very few would dare demean him to his face.

My father turned towards Uther. "Commander Uther! A word with you." There was nothing in the tone of his voice to indicate any kind of discomfort or impatience. Uther left Titus and Flavius and made his way across to us.

"Uncle? What are you two hatching?"

"These men, Uther. Why are they here? Are they on an embassage or are they prisoners? It might be a good idea if you were to share your thoughts on the matter with us. Don't look at them."

Uther grinned. "I've no intention of looking at them, Uncle. They approached my camp one night, claiming the protection of the Christian Church, and requested that I escort them here to you to discuss matters of great import— equal import to the master of Camulod and the master of Cornwall."

"What is this weighty matter?"

"I've no idea, but they had a bishop with them who begged me with terror in his eyes to accede to their requests, although there was more of demand than request in them. My first thought was to send them packing, minus their clothes and servants, but there was something about that bishop's terror that changed my mind."

"Priests again! Where is the bishop now?"

"He returned to the fort. I had a strong feeling he would rather have stayed with us, but he was under some kind of constraint."

"He went back alone?"

"Aye, and unwillingly, I thought."

My father raised an eyebrow at me.

"Cay? what's your reaction?"

"It sounds...interesting. When do you expect to speak to them?"

"Uther? What do you think?"

"I wouldn't recognize their damned existence at all if it were left to me, but I suppose you ought to receive them tomorrow, or the day after."

"Not tonight?"

"Absolutely not, Uncle. They're Lot's men and Lot is an evil and vicious whoreson. Let them cool their heels for a few days. It will do no harm. Receive them, quarter them, feed them and let them wait."

I was suddenly acutely uncomfortable. "No," I said. "Wait a moment. There's something out of kilter here, something I don't like." They both looked at me questioningly and I shook my head. "It doesn't make sense. Lot may be everything you say he is, Cousin, but he's also bold, and he's cunning. He must have some plan in mind to send these people here, and whatever they are in truth, I'll wager they are far from ambassadors. They could be spies, but to what purpose?" A sudden, errant thought clicked into place. "Time!" I said. "He might be trying to buy time." They frowned at me in puzzlement, clearly not understanding. I could only shake my head. "I don't know why, but the idea simply occurred to me that we might be doing exactly what he wants if we keep these men waiting."

"You might be right, at that, Cousin Longhead." Uther was still frowning, but more thoughtfully now. "But even if you are, we'll achieve nothing by meeting with them tonight. I won't be of any use to you, that much I can warrant. I'm standing here and talking, but I am dead on my feet, and yet I want to be there to hear what they have to say."

"So be it." My father had made his decision. "We will talk with them in the morning. For now we'll leave them here in your care and we two will take no heed of them. See to their quartering yourself, Uther, but then come to my quarters before you do anything else. Cay and I will be waiting for you." He clapped Uther on the shoulder and pushed me forward with his other arm, and we walked away together, leaving Uther with his guests.

We headed directly for my father's quarters, and as we approached the main door of the building in which he was housed, I saw young Donuil trying to attract my attention. My father saw him, too, and left no doubt in my mind as to how he felt. "Now, by the Cross of Christ, here comes your tame heathen. Get rid of him, Cay. We have more important things to do than waste time with him!"

I stopped and Donuil hurried towards me, nodding uncertainly to my father who strode on without acknowledgement. I held up my hand to stem the young man's words before he could utter them. "Donuil, I have no time to talk to you now. My father has called me into conference and has no time to waste."

"But—"

"No buts, Donuil! I am commanded, and if you are to work with me, you'll have to learn what that means. I'll seek you out as soon as I am free, I promise. For now, however, I must go." I walked on and he stepped aside with a crestfallen, worried look.

As I entered my father's quarters, I met one of the troopers hurrying out. I was still looking over my shoulder at him as I stepped into the room.

"I sent him for wine. Uther will have a thirst on him, I suspect, and talking is dry work."

"Aye. So is listening. You look worried, Father. What do you suspect?"

He had removed his cloak and helmet and now he shrugged out of his swordbelt and sprawled in a comfortable chair. "Sit down. I don't know why, but I don't like this. Not one little bit of it. I want to question Uther more closely on the circumstances of this 'request' from the bishop. Lot is an animal and a cunning one. This thing stinks of some pending perfidy."

I had been removing my own outer garments and now I settled into a chair across from him.

"I've been thinking," I said, straightening my tunic beneath me. "Uther said the bishop went back to the fort. That must mean that Uther was encamped close by, perhaps in front of its very gates. That would mean he had been able, with only five hundred men, of whom he lost almost a hundred, to drive Lot's entire army within the gates."

"You're guessing, lad." My father's voice was sceptical. "I can't see any way that Uther could defeat Lot's army with only five hundred men. But you're right about one thing. It seems strange that he could be that close to Lot's stronghold and still feel safe enough to make a camp."

As he finished speaking, Uther came in, unfastening his cloak, closely followed by the trooper bearing a tray with a flagon and cups. "Ah! Mother's milk!" he said, eyeing the jug. "Pour me a large one, trooper. I have half the dust of the south-west on the roof of my mouth." The soldier poured and passed the cups around, leaving as we drank to the safe return of the hero. Uther drained his cup and refilled it before perching comfortably on the table's edge. "God! That tastes good! Uncle Picus, you're obviously waiting to hear something. What is it?"

"The news of your campaign."

"I told you. We were victorious."

"You lost a hundred men."

Uther's face grew serious. "Aye. I lost a hundred. Thirty will have a chance to ride again, but the other seventy are gone."

"How?"

"Mainly in one bad trap, along the coast of Cornwall."

"What happened?"

"I learned an expensive lesson. We rode into a trap in broad daylight, and were cut down."

"Tell me."

Uther heaved a sigh. "I've never seen the like of it," he said. "We had not sighted the enemy in three days, but we were following their trail, which was plain to see. We had come on the scene of a skirmish. There must have been sixty corpses, obviously killed in battle, and a group of ten who had been executed. They were all stripped of clothes and weapons."

"Who were they? Have you any idea?"

Uther shook his head. "None at all. I only know they weren't mine. Anyway, the tracks leading away from the spot were plain to see, so we followed them."