It gradually became apparent to Uther and to those around him who enjoyed his confidence that something fundamental had changed within his army during the course of the year's campaigning. Had anyone chosen to consider such things prior to the start of that campaign, they might have said that Uther's was a lucky army; everyone had taken that for granted. During the latter part of that summer, however, that perception changed radically, and "Uther's Luck," as it came to be known, was regularly talked about around his army's campfires. The rate at which his best intentions and most careful planning went wrong soon began to generate a plainly noticeable kind of superstitious awe among his followers, and Uther himself eventually reached the stage where he could not blame his people for what they were thinking. He could not charge them openly with disloyalty, either, for the truth was that he, too, suspected some malign, supernatural intervention in his affairs.
From that first night with Ygraine, it seemed to him later, nothing that he planned had ever come to full fruition in quite the way he had envisioned, and he convinced himself eventually that lying with Ygraine had been the very worst thing he could have done. He was incapable of forgetting that Ygraine was sister to Deirdre, who had been Merlyn's wife and was now dead, and that before all that, Deirdre had been Cassandra. Forgetting the pleasure of their coupling, he could not banish the shame of having used his captive for his own desires, in contradiction of everything he had been taught about honourable conduct, acting in the basest possible way, giving full rein to the darkness in him. He felt sure he was being punished for this transgression with the falseness of those around him. And deep in his soul, it sometimes rankled when he gave way to his despair and remembered how he had renounced all his boyhood ties to Cambria—even to being Pendragon—because of his loyalty to Merlyn and to Camulod. A sacrifice that big. made in the name of loyalty, he told himself on the few occasions when he allowed himself to wallow in self-pity, should protect anyone against disloyalty in others . . .
Most of the time, however, Uther would have nothing to do with such thoughts. He had little patience for those who were forever looking back over their shoulders. Only at night would the shadows overtake him, subjecting him to superstitious fears and reminding him of the darkness he acknowledged in himself. It was hardly surprising, therefore, that he seldom permitted himself to dwell on such things, forcing himself instead to remain in the bright light of the approval of his people.
Chapter THIRTY-ONE
In the autumn of the year, towards the end of the campaigning season, an unknown warrior on a tall red horse rode into Uther's camp one evening and demanded to speak with King Uther Pendragon. He was detained but not disarmed, while Nemo, who was decurion of the guard that night, set out to find Uther. But Uther had seen the man arrive and had already come himself to find out who would dare to ride so boldly into his camp alone and on such a magnificent mount.
The King strode quickly towards the group clustered about the newcomer, and the stranger began to step forward to meet him, only to be seized and forced to his knees by the zealous guards. Uther barked an order, bidding them step away and allow the stranger to rise. The man then rose to his feet, squaring his shoulders and holding his head high, glaring around defiantly at his captors.
Uther walked right by him, ignoring him completely, and went to examine his horse, instead. He inspected the animal's teeth and ran his hand expertly over its withers, then turned to its master.
"A fine horse. Unusual for us to see horseflesh as good as our own in this part of the world. I'm Uther Pendragon. Who are you?"
Instead of answering, the stranger reached out and unfolded his left hand, palm upward, revealing Uther's own ring, worn facing inward, on his little finger. The King gazed at it in silence for a count of several heartbeats, his lips pursed, then turned to lay a hand on the arm of one of the guards.
"Marek, go you to the commissary if you will, and bring some cups and a jug of ale to my tent. . . a large jug, I think. Our friend here looks thirsty." He turned back to the newcomer and inclined his head. "Come with me. Your horse will be looked after while we talk." He glanced at Nemo, who stood glowering at the stranger. "See to it. Nemo, will you?" Then he strode away towards his tent without a backward glance, and the visitor walked close behind him, leaving the guards looking at each other in mute wonder, unable to decipher what had just happened.
Darkness had already begun to fall, and lamps and smoky, pitch-dipped torches were being lit everywhere. In the King's Tent, they found a trooper busily lighting the high, tallow candles that augmented Uther's dim, smoky campaign lamps. Uther waved the man to a chair and then leaned with his buttocks against the single table, his arms folded across his chest, waiting until the trooper had left the tent.
As soon as they were alone, he spoke. "The Lady Ygraine is well, I hope?"
"Aye, she is. And nearby, too. She bade me bring you to her, if you can make the time to visit her."
Uther was staring at the stranger, assessing him as he had been doing since first he set eyes on him. The man was no ordinary warrior, nor was he a servant of any kind. Quite apart from the magnificent horse he rode, his speech and his clothing proclaimed him high-born to some degree.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Lagan. They call me Lagan Longhead."
The King smiled. "Of course, Herliss's son. I see the resemblance now. Is your father well? I have heard nothing of him since I saw him last."
Lagan inclined his head solemnly. "He is well and safely back in Tir Gwyn where he belongs. I am grateful to you for releasing him and for the way in which you did it. You saved his life, and perhaps my own and those of my wife and son. My entire clan is in your debt."
Uther smiled and shook his head. "No need for that, Lagan Longhead. I did what I did for my own benefit, believe me. I needed allies in the war against Lot, and your father and the Queen needed someone who could help them win back some portion of their lives. We all benefited equally."
He was interrupted by the arrival of the trooper Marek, bearing a jug of ale and two mugs. Uther took them from him and thanked the man, then poured. Lagan raised his mug immediately and drank down half of the contents in a single long swallow. Uther watched him, smiling faintly, then picked up the jug and refilled Lagan's before sipping his own. He made no move to sit in the other chair, content instead to remain lounging against the edge of the table, looking down at his seated guest.