"Evidently." Uther nodded his head. "How long did you remain with them?"
"For four years." The glow that had animated Owain's face was gone. "They were killed. In the fourth winter after I joined them, I went hunting. Game was not plentiful that year, and I was gone for nigh on two days. While I was gone, marauders found them and killed them. They took what they wanted, which could not have been much, and then burned the house . . ."
The silence that followed these words was so long that Uther thought again that Owain had finished, but as he began to say something that would express his condolences, the other sniffed and cleared his throat noisily.
"I found them . . . the killers, I mean. No great task. They had not expected to be followed. Four of them. I captured them all alive, and then I killed them, very slowly, very thoroughly and very painfully, one at a time, taking care to remind them each day of why they were dying. By the time the last of them died, having watched his friends precede him, his regret at having led them in doing what they did was very real.
"Somehow, I don't know how, someone found out what I had done and told others. Soon afterward, another man, a wealthy man, came to me and offered to feed and clothe me and provide a roof over my head in return for what he called my 'protective services.' From that day until this, I have made my living by selling those services. But thanks to the gifts I received from Gerrix, I have been able to do it on my own terms and according to my own beliefs."
Uther had listened carefully, wondering at the incomprehensible logic of this man. He could see that honour played a large part in the tall Northerner's behaviour, but he was at a loss to understand the workings and the dictates of that honour, since the man's professed way of life was in violation of all that Uther held to be honourable. He decided that he wanted to understand more.
"Tell me, Owain, why did you admit to me so quickly that you were sent to kill me? Had you no fear of our reprisals? We could have killed you then, before your words had died away."
"And if the gods had wished that, you would have. I but spoke the truth."
"I know that, but why? You could have waited and kept silent and then done what you were required to do afterward. You could have killed me when I least expected it and then returned to Meradoc as a hero. I don't understand why you made that decision . . . Or do you still intend to do it later?"
Owain of the Caves pulled his dirk from the ground and rubbed the point clean with the ball of his thumb, then turned his face towards Uther and smiled again. Uther was amazed at how the man's whole face lit up when he did so.
"Impossibility. You don't see that, though, do you?" He twisted his body, reaching behind him to replace the dirk in his belt. "Do you know anything of honour down there in that place called Camulod?"
"Of course we do."
"Well, then, you should have no difficulty understanding. You saved my life at risk of your own. That laid a heavy claim on me. How then could I kill you and be a man of honour?"
"Because it was an accidental thing, my saving you. Had I known you were there to kill me, I might not have been so quick to expose myself to that bear."
"You did what you were driven to do, Uther Pendragon. So did I. That's what a man—any real man—does."
"Hmm." Uther frowned slightly and shook his head in annoyance. "And so this with Meradoc. You claim he'll have you killed if he can find you, simply for behaving, as you see this thing, with honour. And yet I detect no anger in you towards him."
"What good is anger? It's a pointless thing, most of the time destructive."
"Very well, then. So you were to kill me, but the gods forestalled you. Why were you sent to look for me at all?"
"I was sent to make sure you came late to the Gathering. I told you that earlier. The decision to kill you was my choice, since I could think of no surer means of making you late."
"Meradoc did not order my death, then?"
"No, not in words, but his choice of messenger did not lack meaning."
"Because you tend to do things thoroughly."
Owain inclined his head slightly.
"So Meradoc sees me as an enemy."
"That seems obvious."
"Well, at least it's clear enough. I do not like Meradoc, but that hardly sets me apart from the mass. But I have never given him the slightest cause to see me as an enemy."
"Meradoc needs no cause for things like that. He is the cause. Think about that. You are not a stupid man, though I begin to wonder if you are not naive. It is not unheard of for an ambitious man to take matters into his own hands with power as important as a King's at stake. And yet for Meradoc there is more." The big man sat up straighter and sniffed, then wiped at his nose with the back of his hand. "Guilt, man! There's cause enough for hatred and for fear . . ." His voice died away, and then resumed. "Look you, you saved my life and fed me well, and you have made no move to hinder me or hold me, so tomorrow I will be gone, and we may never set eyes each upon the other again. Your life for my life I gave, so accept this for the meal and the freedom. Think upon your father. Uric the King. Upon his death."
"I have thought much on it. He died by a poisoned arrow, shot by one of Lot of Cornwall's men."
"Aye, but where?"
Uther had grown tense. "What do you mean, 'where?' In battle, where else?"
"No!" Owain shook his head. "I don't know where you heard that tale, but Uric was in his camp, at night, in the middle of his army when he was killed. Now ask yourself this . . . how came the Cornish there in Uric's own camp? Who was in charge of the King's safety? There were guards who died for their carelessness that night, but who was responsible for assigning all those guards?"
"Meradoc?"
"Aye, Meradoc. Someone arranged things so the Cornishman could pass through ranks of guards. And Meradoc was in charge. He had the guards all killed at once, so great was his rage, for failing in their duty to the King. They were all dead almost before the word was spread."
"And dead men can't speak out, is that what you are saying?"
"You said it, not me."
"That is . . ." Uther's voice was choked with loathing. "You know this? You are convinced this happened?"
"No, I was far away that night, up in the north, so I don't know it. But I know Meradoc and I know his greed, and what his wishes were and are. Meradoc sees himself as High King of the Pendragon Federation, but Uric was already there in place. So, to a man hungry enough and peering through a shuttered door at food on a table, the problem would have seemed simple: remove the obstacle between you and the table, then eat your fill." He moved his legs and rose to his feet. "Is that cause enough for enmity? Ask him yourself, when next you meet him. Now I'm going to sleep. Is there anything else you wanted to ask me?"
Uther simply shook his head, incapable of speech, and watched Owain walk into the blackness beyond the fire's range.
"I had doubts of my own, but didn't want to voice them to you until I knew more. His words have the ring of truth to them." Garreth's voice came from the darkness of the trees behind Uther's back. Uther sat silent, then spoke without turning.
"How long have you been listening there? I thought you went to bed."
"I did. I couldn't sleep."
"You suspected this treachery of Meradoc's? You should have told me, Garreth."
"Told you what, that I smelled a stink of fish? We live beside the sea, Uther. Anyway, now you know more than I knew. What will you do?"
Uther rose to his feet and picked up his bedroll, then walked away into the darkness without answering. When he came to where Owain of the Caves was stooping to lie down, having spread his blanket beneath the boughs of an evergreen, he stopped and spoke.
"Owain!"
He heard a stirring in the blackness beneath the tree. "Aye?"
"You have a place with me if you want one. Meradoc might yet kill you, but before he does, he'll have to kill me and mine as well, and I intend to give him no chance at that before he dies."
There was silence for a spell, and then the voice spoke from the darkness. "I'll think on that."
"Good." Turning to leave, Uther stopped once again. "Think on this, too, while you're about it. I prefer to do my own killing, with my own weapons. Should you choose to stay with us, you will live in new ways and in new days. And if I ever call upon your services, you will deliver them openly, by my side and shoulder to shoulder with my friends, my companions and my warriors."
There was no response, and he walked away through the long grass, swinging his bedroll up over his shoulder and thinking deeply.