"The only thing that does make any kind of sense to me is that your lord is dreaming of attacking us again in Camulod, carrying the war into our bourne yet again, hoping to force us to recall our armies from Cornwall and keep them immured thereafter in our own lands, away from his and yours. But who would undertake that task? Not Lot himself, that much is certain. He hasn't got the guts or the balls to try a thing like that, where he might get hurt. Twice now, he has sent armies up to our lands in treachery, killing, looting and marauding without any provocation, and on each occasion his people died swearing that he was there with them. When it was over, however, and the remnants of his armies had been sent running for their sorry lives, it transpired each time that the mighty monarch, King in Cornwall, had elected not to accompany his armies after all and had remained safe at home."
Herliss stood silent, making no attempt to speak.
"Those two incursions into our lands have cost me dearly. Gulrhys Lot will someday pay the price to me in person, and he will pay in blood. The first attack, led by two foul, sorcerous creatures, both of whom lie dead in Camulod, cost me a favourite uncle and a lifetime friend, dead by envenomed arrows. The second, less than a year ago as you well know, cost me my dear cousin, Merlyn Britannicus, still alive in body but dead inside, his wits driven from him by a blow to the head.
"I learned long ago that Lot has no stomach at all for fighting personally. He would never dare come into Camulod in person. He would far rather send a warring group of underlings to squabble endlessly and achieve nothing, as they did the last time, than put himself in any danger. And that, Herliss, is why I am here in Cornwall. I have no interest in laying your land waste, but I will tear the heavens and all of earth apart to reach that foul toad's guts and rip them out of his stinking carcass while he still has eyes to watch me do it."
Now he swung his eyes to meet Herliss's gaze head on. "So, if he plans to march on Camulod again, with siege engines this time, he will send an underling. But it must be an underling who understands the principles of siege warfare. You?"
Herliss shrugged his enormous shoulders. "Not I, not now. Besides, I know nothing about fighting that way. I fight with my hands."
"Yes, quite. Who, then ? Would you tell me if you knew?"
"No. Is it important ?"
Uther grinned—a small, tight, ferocious snarl—and shook his head. "No, it is not. Not now and not ever, now that I have the engines. Where did they come from?"
"From my own holdings. I had them stored in several of my places along the south coast. They belonged to Lot's father, the Duke Emrys, and he obtained them openly years and years ago from the Roman garrisons along the Saxon Shore in the far southeast, while the coastal routes were still open. On the death of the old Duke, they passed into the nominal possession of King Lot under my continuing guardianship. He has always known they were there, and recently he asked me about them and made arrangements to have me bring them to him. He made no mention of where he would use them, and none of my being put in charge of them after they were in his hands."
"Just as well, because he'll never use them now." Uther turned to a mounted trooper who sat close behind his right shoulder, and then he stopped, plainly on the point of issuing an order. Instead, he turned slowly back towards Herliss. "Wait you, though. You were on your way to Lot to deliver the siege engines, is that not so?"
Herliss nodded, plainly considering the answer obvious.
"Then whence came Lot's Queen? Was she with you in the south?"
Herliss felt his face flush red, but all he could do was curse himself for a fool and nod abruptly in an attempt to brush this off as unimportant. Already, however, he knew his face had betrayed him.
"Aye," he growled. "She was staying with me, as my guest in Tir Gwyn."
"Your . . . guest."
"Aye, my guest. You find that strange? My youngest wife and she are good friends, close."
"I see. And how long had she been there? I promise you I shall find out the truth, so don't start lying to me now, Herliss."
The other man shrugged and looked away, mumbling an inaudible response.
"Your pardon, I missed that. What did you say?"
"I said she had been with us for some months."
"I see. Then she must be pining for her husband, and he for her by this time."
"Aye, mayhap she must."
Uther turned back to the trooper. "Nemo, go straight to Huw. Tell him to burn everything in the wagons except food and any portable equipment we can use easily. Tell him to burn the wagons, too, and not to fret about the smoke being seen. If anyone comes looking for the source of all the smoke, we'll give them far more to worry about than a mere fire. Go."
As the trooper wheeled away, Uther nodded again to Herliss. "My thanks for being honest, although there was nothing else you might have done. You may return to your men."
He glanced at Herliss's escort and waved them on with a tiny gesture of his fingers. And then, as they moved away, he tapped the pad of his index finger against his pursed lips, making small, sibilant kissing noises as he thought about what had happened and what remained to be done. Finally he reined his horse around and kicked it into motion.
Uther rode until he reached a blazing cook fire, where several of his party had dismounted and tethered their horses as they waited to be fed. Uther climbed down for the first time since mounting his horse that morning, some six hours earlier, and moved to pick up a broken loaf of hard-crusted bread, ripping off a large piece and taking a great bite of it. By the time he had chewed it for long enough to moisten it. Huw Strongarm had reached his side again, and Uther looked at him with one eyebrow raised.
"Is there something amiss?"
"No, everything's in hand. I simply wanted a drink of water."
"Good. Drink, and take something to eat. Then, as soon as the fires are blazing too fiercely to be put out, let's get everyone on the move and up into the safety of the hills. You know what to do—have the prisoners' wrists tied behind them, then string them all together by the neck in single file like slaves. Let them think they're all going to die, but don't let any of our people abuse them unnecessarily. We'll let them go eventually, once Lot and his people know exactly where and who we are. By that time, they'll no longer be a threat to us, since everyone will know our whereabouts. In the meantime, keep them under close guard. Who did you leave in charge of firing the wagons?"
Huw grunted and spoke around a mouthful of half-chewed bread. "Hard-Nose."
"Good." Uther took off his heavy helmet and placed it carefully beside him before he lowered himself and stretched out full length on the ground close to where the horses were tethered. "Half an hour. Wake me when we're almost ready to go."
He was asleep in moments.
Chapter TWENTY-FIVE
Ygraine had no words to describe what she saw among the enemy forces that day. She watched with horror as the Camulodians, with organized efficiency, set fire to the wagons and their contents and then quit the scene of the ambush, with its blazing beacons and towering pillars of black, roiling smoke. They wasted no time in clearing the area, their mounted troopers serving as guards for the long lines of prisoners who were strung together, neck to neck, twenty-live men to a file, and then almost literally dragged behind trotting horses.