Untroubled by any responsibility for the prisoners, the long- legged bowmen moved away quickly too, in large, lightly organized groups, travelling on foot and maintaining regular formations. From where she sat watching them, Ygraine marvelled at how quickly they swept upwards and away, in connected bodies, rank and file, until from a distance they appeared to move across the hillsides like cloud shadows, their bows and quivers slung across their shoulders to leave their hands free for climbing. It was clear to her that they were moving well away in anticipation of reprisals and pursuit, but she could have told them that they had no reason for concern. There was no body of Cornish troops close enough even to see the enormous towers of smoke that marked the place, and it would be many days before Lot took the time to notice that Herliss was late in arriving. But of course, she said nothing.
Ygraine and her women, each riding behind one of their captors and constrained to clasp him around the waist for fear of falling from the horse's rump, travelled fast and hard for more than three hours, pausing only briefly, from time to time, to give their horses time to rest. And the bowmen, to Ygraine's great surprise, kept pace with them.
Eventually they arrived in another valley, a pleasant, shallow place with an ample stream running through it and a large, well- established encampment already in place. Heavy commissary wagons were set around a broad, open area that was scattered with blackened fire circles, all surrounded by logs for seating, and beyond that lay acres of cleanly laid-out horse lines and tent sites. Ygraine was astonished to realize that there were more horses and horse troopers camped there than there had been bowmen in the ambush that had captured her. Uther's force was a raiding party, she could see, but it was a large one and well equipped. She and her party attracted great curiosity among the troopers close enough to see that they were women, but they were lowered from their horses courteously enough, and then grouped together and loosely guarded while their captors transformed their end of the peaceful valley into a hive of activity, adding their own dimensions to the layout of the camp and setting up their own bivouacs.
A short time later, a trooper, whom she identified from his armour as some kind of officer, approached the women, leading a ten-man squad and a heavy wagon pulled by four heavy horses. He scanned the ground around them and then chose a spot halfway between where the women were standing and the edge of the river. He then began issuing orders and indicating where and how he wanted certain things done, and his troopers moved quickly to do his bidding.
None of the other women paid much attention to what was happening at the outset—there were far too many other interesting sights to attract their attention—but Ygraine was fascinated to see the straight-faced concentration shown by the troopers toiling in and around the big wagon. She walked closer to where they worked, unnoticed by any of them or by anyone else, and leaned against the gnarled trunk of an ancient hawthorn as she waited to see what they would do. And there for two hours she remained as they unloaded from the wagon a bewildering number of poles of various sizes, bale after bale of leather, bundles of metal pins or pegs and wooden pulleys and what seemed like miles of rope. Out of all that chaos, the troopers created a soaring edifice of roped leather sheets, the sight of which was breathtaking. It was a tent unlike any other that Ygraine had ever seen, larger, more spacious and more carefully crafted. She guessed that it might be a Roman command tent, but only because she had heard of such things and had listened skeptically as others had sought to describe their virtues and dimensions. The panels were of the finest, hand-tanned leather, sewn with double seams and then carefully waxed for weatherproofing, increased durability and extended use. She noted that the sides, and even some of the roof panels, were vented with hanging, overlapping flaps that could be opened to the weather in clement times, either rolled up and tied in place or propped open on long, thin sticks that slotted into pockets sewn to receive them. She knew that her husband would have shrivelled with envy to see such a thing.
Ygraine counted twelve tall structural poles around the outer perimeter of the tent, each of them an arm's length longer than the height of a tall, helmeted man, and there was an additional, inner square of four more, each of those thicker than the exterior poles and set four full paces from its neighbours. These raised the roof fully half as high again, and then finally, in the very centre of the edifice, was one enormously tall, strong pole that was almost as thick as her waist through its base. This central pillar was constructed to break down into manageable lengths, so that it could be quickly assembled or dismantled and carried in a single large wagon. When it was erected, a suspended, circular collar of some kind ringed the lop of this pole, and to that were attached the leather panels that formed the highest sections of the roof. Everything, it seemed—all the stretched skins of the walls and roof and all the poles themselves—was secured with ropes wound through pulleys and attached to heavy iron pegs hammered deep into the ground.
Ygraine assumed, quite naturally, that the tent was being erected for the King, Uther Pendragon, so she was more than surprised when Huw Strongarm advised Morgas that he was placing it at the disposal of her women. At first Ygraine thought he was mocking them, and so, to her credit, did Morgas. But it quickly became plain that he was not, and so Ygraine said nothing, merely gazing at Morgas and nodding her head almost imperceptibly to indicate that she should accept the concession as graciously as she could.
Now night was falling quickly, and the women were gathered together in the centre of the tent, grouped around the brazier that had been carried in by two of Huw Strongarm's troopers and placed beneath a wide, open roof flap that allowed the smoke to escape. Lamps had been lit and torches guttered in iron baskets on poles stuck in the ground. Morgas was the only one seated, and the others were all grouped about her. Ygraine, standing close behind the taller woman, had undone the lengths of Morgas's hair and was preparing to brush it. Over by the main entrance, one woman stood alone, peering out into the gathering night. Suddenly the watcher tensed.
"There's someone coming. I think it's the Cambrian!"
The group of women went still as soon as she spoke, and in the sudden hush, the guttering of the flames in the lighted lamps around the large space could be heard quite clearly. Morgas, the tallest of them all, turned completely around and glanced up, wide-eyed, at Ygraine. But the real Queen had already taken charge, turning towards the woman who had spoken and motioning to her to step away from the doorway.
"Remember, all of you," she said, her voice low-pitched and calm. "No one looks at me. Morgas is the Queen." She stepped back immediately, away from Morgas, at the same time waving for another of the women to step forward. The one called Dyllis took her place, holding a hairbrush, and immediately began brushing Morgas's hair.
She had barely begun when the leather flaps of the tent were pulled open and the first of two men entered, stooped over and holding up one arm as if to keep the tent's roof from falling on his head. His face was completely concealed by the bulk of an enormous bronze helmet that was surmounted by a high crest of red- dyed horsehair, but the size of him and something in the way he moved made it clear to her that this was the man called Huw Strong- arm. Behind him, an even larger man followed, this one Uther, King of Pendragon. This was the first time any of the women had seen him up close, and every pair of eyes in the gathering was fixed upon him, although he was so completely muffled in clothing and armour that there was little of the actual man to see.
The men moved towards the centre of the tent, where Uther stood quietly, making no attempt to speak but simply looking at Morgas and her satellite women. While he looked at Morgas, Ygraine looked at him, absorbing the imposing height of him, emphasized by the bulk of his clothing and armour and the giant shadow he threw on the wall of the high tent.