The three men, the closest of all his followers, sat gazing at him without speaking, thinking over all that they had been told and trying to make sense out of any part of it. It was Garreth Whistler who eventually broke the silence.
"Uther," he said, "there's something very wrong here, something I can't grasp . . . And that leaves me thinking Lot must be insane. Could that be true? This hostage nonsense, taking this fellow Lagan's wife and son in order to make sure he goes against his own father . . ."
Uther was leaning forward, his eyes narrowed to slits. "What you are really wondering is whether or not the man is far enough gone in his mind to have taken hostages from everyone about him to ensure the ongoing loyalty of all of them. Am I right?"
"Aye, you are. Could he do such a thing? I've never heard the like."
"Nor have I, my friend, but it would not be impossible . . . given that you were insane enough to accept that everyone around you must hate and fear you." Uther looked from Garreth to the other two. "Owain, would you know aught of the like?"
Owain of the Caves shrugged his shoulders and managed to nod his head simultaneously. "I would. I lived with it for a while." He turned his gaze on Garreth. "That's what it was growing to be like with Meradoc. He was drunk with power and felt the stronger to have people go in fear of him. But it was going to his head, none'less, and he was getting worse . . . He would never have held hostages, though. That would have been too much work. He'd have had to feed them and keep them healthy. He had us, instead. We put the fear of dying into everyone around him. Didn't have to do anything most of the time. It was simply enough to be there, and to be seen and feared." He stopped short and looked quickly at Uther. "Think you that's what Lot is doing?"
"Aye, Owain, I do. I think he has surrounded himself with a force of mercenaries strong enough to carry out his every wish without compunction, and their strength guards his strength."
"Then he's a fool, as well as mad!" This was Huw Strongarm. "They are but hired men, with no loyalty to him."
"Aye, perhaps. But never doubt a mercenary's loyalty to the hand that holds the drawstring of the purse that pays him, Huw. As long as Lot can keep them paid—be it in booty, gold, food, drink or women—they'll do his bidding and fulfill his purposes. And if those purposes entail keeping his entire people terrified and on their toes, awaiting death, so be it."
"So where does that leave us?" asked Garreth Whistler.
"Well, it leaves us with a task regarding this army that's out looking for us. We know they're down in the far southwest, or they were a few days ago. What we must do is keep them there, where they won't interfere with us or our plans."
"And how will we do that?" Garreth asked.
"You will do it, Garreth, by leading our Dragons down there and finding Lagan Longhead, then taking vengeance for Lodder and his ten men. Lot's rabble will be as sheep against wolves, face to face with our Dragons, especially when you tell our troopers what befell their friends who went to talk with Lot and his carrion-eaters. But your task will be to harry them, Garreth, not to fight battles. Hit them hard and outrun them on horseback, then turn about and hit them hard again. Give them no rest, no satisfaction and no mercy. Set them reeling, then keep them staggering. Keep them in the field and in the far southwest, away from here."
"Aye, I'll do that. When d'you want me to leave?"
"I'm not sure yet, but it will be very soon. Probably tomorrow."
"Fine. And while I'm away, what are you going to do with all these blasted women, now we know their King won't buy them back?"
"I'm going to use them, Garreth, against Lot. And I'm going to use them very cleverly, I think. In fact, I have been thinking greatly on that this past week and have evolved a stratagem that might work . . . if I can charm their Queen."
Owain coughed loudly into his sleeve, unsuccessfully smothering a guffaw.
Uther looked at him, one eyebrow rising slowly in query. "Owain?"
"Your pardon," he said, smiling openly now. "But . . . you've bedded her, why shouldn't you charm her, too?"
Uther gazed at the big Northerner, his face betraying nothing of his thoughts, and then looked in turn at Huw and at Garreth, both of whom sat blank-faced, staring at him. When he had searched their eyes, all three of them, he nodded slowly.
"What would you say if I informed you that the one I am bedding is not the Queen?"
"Not the—" Huw Strongarm sat straighter, and his right hand dropped unconsciously to the hilt of his dagger. "But of course she is the Queen!"
"Ah yes, Huw." Uther laughed aloud. "She told you so, did she not? I had forgotten. You asked her if she was the Queen and she answered you that she was."
"Yes, she did."
"And did it never occur to you that it might not have been to the Queen's advantage to be known? Or that the one you asked might lie and all the others, too, to protect the true Queen's identity and person?"
"Well, I . . ." Huw's voice died away and he sat silent.
"Which one is the real Queen, then?" Garreth asked, and Uther grinned at him.
"You ought to know, Garreth. You have met her sister, or at least seen her, twice that I know of. And her brother, too."
Garreth looked incredulous. "Her brother? I have met her brother? How would I know the brother of a Cornish Queen?"
"Because she is not Cornish, nor yet from Britain at all. Think, man, think! Do you remember my Cousin Merlyn's adjutant, Donuil? Well, he had a sister . . ."
"Aye, you told me. Cassandra, the girl you found in the woods. Except her name turned out to be . . ."
"Deirdre, the red-haired one. Now, here's what I have in mind."
"Wait you, Uther, before you go farther." Owain sounded perplexed. "Before you go any farther, answer me this . . . How do you expect to charm the real Queen while you be yet tupping the false one?"
"I have already stopped tupping the false one."
"Have you, by all the gods? And when was that?"
"Last night. No, in truth it was this afternoon when I began to think this through. That is when I decided to stop."
"And d'you think she will take kindly to that? She'll be angry."
"Wherefore? At being deceived? I think not. Remember, she pretends to be the Queen, thereby deceiving me. Now listen closely. We will say nothing of this failed approach to Lot in any of our dealings with the women, but I want to separate them all from the true Queen, so here is what we'll do . . ."
In the brightness of mid-morning the following day, Dyllis was isolated by four guards and taken away from her companions without explanation, two of the guards accompanying and leading her, gently enough and without force, one on either side, while the other two used their spears as barriers to prevent any of her companions from attempting to aid her.
Bewildered rather than frightened by the suddenness of her abduction, Dyllis had barely begun to make sense of what was happening to her when her guards came to a halt and she found herself in front of another tent, this one far smaller than the King's Tent in which Morgas was confined. A wooden table stood in front of it, with two folding wood-and-leather chairs, and on her right, its reins loosely tethered to a hawthorn tree, an enormous brown horse, bridled and saddled, stood so close to her that she could hear the ripping sound of grass being cropped between its grazing lips.