Morgas spoke again. "There are thirteen of us, not twelve."
Uther turned and looked at her again, then raised a hand to Huw, who stepped aside and went to the doorway, where he spoke to one of the guards outside. A moment later, two more men entered the tent, ordinary troopers identically dressed. Uther stood motionless as the two crossed to stand one on either side of Morgas, who remained seated, a picture of icy detachment. Despite herself, Ygraine felt a flicker of admiration for her deputy and for the performance she was delivering.
Uther moved to stand in front of Morgas, looking down at her.
"You may take the chair with you if you so wish, lady, and if you insist, we will even carry you while you yet sit upon it, but you are not staying here with your women. You are going where I can keep my eye on you." He raised a hand to quell the instant surge of protest that arose from the women and spoke over the noise. "Your Queen will be safe enough, I promise you. Bear in mind, this woman has been wed to Gulrhys Lot. After such misfortune as that, I can promise all of you that she will come to no harm at my hands. I take her from you only because I cannot believe the gods have rendered Gulrhys Lot's Queen into my care, and I do not intend to lose her to any cause or condition." He glanced back to Morgas. "So, milady, I hope you do not snore, for only the wall of a tent will keep the sound of it from me. I, of course, do not snore."
He jerked his head to the guards and turned back again to face the row of women as Morgas rose to her feet and left with the two guards, accepting the soft woollen cloak that Huw held out to her as she walked past him. All twelve women were watching Uther, quiet and wide-eyed, and none of them as much as glanced at Morgas.
He looked at them and nodded. "You will all be safe here, believe me. Sleep well." Then he bowed and moved to the flapped doorway, where he ducked his head and disappeared, closely followed by Huw Strongarm.
Ygraine stood frowning, wondering what had happened here. She had prepared Morgas to seduce Uther, but neither of them had been prepared for him simply to abduct her. And yet, a voice inside her head was telling her, Uther could scarcely have clone anything more suitable to her own designs, for in removing Morgas from the company of the other women, he had preserved Ygraine against her greatest fear: that over time, in such constrained quarters and under the constant vigilance of guards, one or another of the women must betray by act or word or gesture, or even through simple deference, that it was she who was the Queen and not Morgas.
She turned to her women, who were beginning to find their voices, whispering among themselves. But before she could even begin speaking to any of them, a raised voice from outside the tent announced that their cots and bedding had arrived. And shortly after that, while they were setting up their sleeping arrangements, another message came that their latrines had been finished and were in working order.
It was long after dark and the lamps were guttering low before the women got to bed that night, and before she fell asleep, Ygraine wondered what was happening to Morgas.
Even as the thought occurred to Ygraine, Morgas was alone in Uther's impressive campaign tent. Uther had conducted her there personally, accompanied by two guards carrying torches, and as one of the guards went about lighting a number of oil lamps, he had shown her how the space within the tent was divided by a T-shaped partition of leather walls so as to create three chambers, the front one twice the size of the two at the rear. The main partition, made of thin, supple, lightly oiled leather and reaching head high, stretched across the entire width of the tent between two poles, save for a space at each end that permitted access to the sleeping cubicles behind. The two rear compartments were barely separated from each other by a second, similar screen, strung between two more poles in the ground, that divided the space equally, the pole at one end almost touching the rear wall of the tent, while the other reached close to the lateral partition, leaving sufficient space for a body to pass from one cubicle to the other without having to go all the way around to the other entrance. Each compartment contained a simple military cot and footlocker, and a collapsible washstand that held a jug and a basin made of fired clay. The larger space at the front of the tent held a plain, large table and a smaller one that served as a washstand, with a basin and a ewer of water and a wooden rail mounted on one side from which hung a strip of towel. Then there were a wooden chair with arms, a three-legged stool, two more footlockers and a device of crossed poles fashioned to accommodate armour and clothing that was not in use. Uther led her directly into the sleeping chamber on the right and waved his thumb towards the cot.
'You will sleep here. I will be there, on the other side of the wall."
Her lip curled in scorn. "You will be there, will you? And for how long will you remain there? Do you expect me to sleep in peace, lulled by your solemn word alone that I will not be molested? How big a fool do you think I am, sir?"
One of his eyebrows rose, but for a long time he made no response other than a small, sardonic twitch of his lips that might have been the beginning of a pitying smile. Finally his head moved very slightly in the negative and the smile grew slightly larger. "Lady, I have no expectations of you at all, and your foolishness is already demonstrated by your marriage to the self-styled King of Cornwall. Have no fears for your chastity, for had I wished to have you in my bed, that is where you would now be. Bear in mind you are my prisoner. And on that same point, do not attempt to leave this tent. There will be guards outside at all times with orders to restrain you if necessary, and if that means you have to spend most of your nights gagged and trussed up with ropes, so be it. The choice is yours." He nodded in dismissal to the two waiting guards and they saluted and withdrew. Uther looked over to her. "Do you have any questions?"
She threw back her head defiantly, presenting her heavy, proud breasts for his inspection. "You say you have no interest in despoiling me. Why, then . . . by what right do you separate me from my women?"
"By my own right as your captor." He did not deign to cast as much as a glance towards her breasts but kept his eyes fixed on hers. "You will be permitted to spend some time with your women each day. Three or four may come at a time, but no more than that, to visit you here. They may stay with you for a maximum of two hours each time. None of them, however, will have any access to your bodyguard or to any male member of your retinue or escort. Be warned on that, and make sure you discourage them from attempting to defy that rule. It will be hard on anyone caught trying to communicate with your people outside.
"Nemo is the name of the commander of your guards. He is a decurion in my personal guard, and I trust him implicitly." He smiled again, a tight, wintry little smile containing little amusement. "Your . . . virtue . . . will be safe from him, as well, as his will be from you and any wiles you might think to deploy against him. I warn you, Nemo is not seducible, so do not even think about suborning him. But then, if you feel that you simply must make the attempt in order to demonstrate how irresistible you are . . . well, remember that I warned you."
He looked around the tent, noting that the lamps were all burning brightly and steadily. Satisfied, he looked back at her and nodded.
"They should be bringing you some food soon, and I will make sure that someone brings you a jug of hot water before you retire. Sleep well."
Then, before she could think of a single thing to say to arrest him or to put him in his place, he spun on his heel and walked away, out of the tent, leaving her fuming and decidedly out of sorts.
Morgas was not accustomed to having men ignore her physical attractions. Since the days when womanhood first began to emerge in her, she had been blessed not only with a winsome, lovely face and soft, wide, sensual lips, but with high, heavy breasts and a narrow back and waist that swelled out to lushly rounded hips above long, clean-lined legs. All males lusted after her at one time or another, she knew, and most of them did it all the time, devouring her with hungry eyes. That was something she had come to take for granted over the years, and now she expected no less. Even the King, Gulrhys Lot, had fallen under her spell after only a very short time, and no man to whom she herself had fell attracted had ever refused her, let alone ignored her, as had this upstart Cambrian. She consoled herself by planning exactly how she would behave at their next encounter and what she would say to him, how she would spurn his approach and shrivel him with disdain.