"My Commander's proposal, in outline—to be expanded to your mutual satisfaction later—is this: he believes that you perceive his presence here in Cambria to be a threat against your own security and safety in your Colony of Camulod. He suggests that there is no such threat, and that his presence hoe is temporary, dedicated only to the swift success of the campaign he is waging on behalf of Carthac Pendragon. When that has been concluded, Ironhair will withdraw his forces into Cornwall once more, content that he has a strong ally in Cambria to the north and, conceivably, an ally of convenience in Camulod to the northeast—yourselves.
"You, on the other hand, would benefit greatly by being free of involvement in the affairs of Cambria, since that would enable you to give your full attention to the emerging threat from the Saxon territories to the east and north of you, and even to extend terms of alliance and cooperation to the king, Vortigern, in Northumbria, should you decide it prudent to protect your interests in that way. As for your peace of mind over Cambria, Ironhair suggests that a precedent already exists for taking care of that: a patrolling force of your cavalry, much like the one that formerly assisted Dergyll ap Griffyd, could be established and maintained as a safeguarding buffer between Cambria and Camulod. That force would be recognized and permitted to function without interference. "
At several points I had turned away from Retorix, taking great pains to do it casually and feigning interest in the conduct of my motionless troopers, in order to school my features more rigidly. The news that Ironhair was aware of our involvement with Vortigern, and of the threat from the Saxon Shore, came as a revelation, despite the fact that I already knew how wide a net Ironhair was capable of casting. The information about Uderic—that he was no friend of mine—was less surprising, since Uderic made no secret that he was suspicious of my motives in being here. It was his specious championship of Carthac that was hardest for me to bear without protest, however much I tried to tell myself that I was listening to mere words, designed to keep me off balance and distracted from taking another course. That angered me, because the course itself remained unclear to me. The suggestion, even by omission, that Ironhair could see it more clearly than I could, and that he could move against me to block it even before I saw it, was infuriating.
There was also the matter of Arthur. Ironhair knew about Arthur—his blood lines, his paternity, and therefore the primacy of his claim to the Cambrian kingship. Our move to Mediobogdum had been the result of one assassination attempt on the boy, fomented by Ironhair himself. Now ' that I was back from my long disappearance, it was presumable that I would keep the boy close by me. Retorix and his companions had clearly been warned to keep a lookout for the boy who would accompany me, and their reaction to Bedwyr told me they knew Arthur's age but had no idea what he might look like.
Why then, I wondered, would Ironhair feed me this mess of pottage about Carthac's claim? He must know that I would scorn it, so what did he seek to gain? In what way would I damage my own cause and advance Ironhair's by rejecting his proposal on the grounds of Arthur's claim? That perplexed me greatly, for I knew that Ironhair must know the answer. And then it came to me, in a burst of sudden understanding that almost took my breath away, so quickly did it supplant Ironhair's apparent advantage over me.
To cover my reaction to the awareness that had flared in me, I stepped forward slowly, my eyes downcast, and made a lengthy display of settling myself into the only chair at the table between Retorix and me. I leaned back and crossed my left arm over my chest, resting my right elbow on my fist and plucking at my lower lip with the thumb and forefinger of my right hand. Retorix watched me, narrow eyed, assuming that I was considering his words. What I was considering, in fact, was what I should do with the knowledge that now throbbed in me, and what I wanted to do most was to stride off into my tent to be alone with my thoughts. I needed to analyse this new awareness immediately and to probe it for weaknesses. But I knew that Bedwyr waited for me in my tent and would distract me from thinking clearly, whereas, if I simply remained where I was, no one would dare to break in on my thoughts.
Ironhair, I was now convinced, was wagering heavily that I would be able to tolerate neither his insolence in making this approach nor the spurious cloak of respectability he was holding up for Carthac. Fully aware of the legitimacy of Arthur's claim as Uther's heir, he was gambling that I would react in outraged fury to his proposal and would—must—
expel his hirelings from my presence. His reasoning, and his hopes for success, were now clear in my mind, and he himself had given me the key to resolving the entire matter. By mentioning Uderic, and the dislike he held for me, Ironhair had overplayed his advantage. When I refused his invitation to withdraw based upon his terms, which depended heavily on his definition of my presence in Cambria as an invading force, I would define myself as a third force in this conflict, inimical, by that definition, to both sides. Bolstered by the false legitimacy of his support of Carthac, who was a Pendragon, Ironhair could then approach Uderic and make common cause with him—albeit temporarily—to drive the invading forces of Camulod out of Cambria.
I had no illusions about Uderic. His ambition was as great as Ironhair's, and his eyes were set on the same prize: the gold circlet that sat upon the brows of whoever ruled as king of the Pendragon. The fact that many, perhaps a majority, of his Pendragon people would refuse to accept that Camulod might have designs on Cambria would have little sway over Uderic's designs. He would form an alliance with Ironhair to drive us out of the Pendragon territories. Then, once we were gone, crushed between the armies of both enemies, he would think he could turn his attention to Ironhair and Carthac, dealing with them at leisure. Uderic was a strong war chief and a natural successor to Dergyll, but he lacked Dergyll's brains and the popular support the former king had attracted without effort. I would pick Ironhair, ten times out of ten, to win any contest with Uderic. But none of that had any direct bearing on my immediate concerns, which had to do with Ironhair's beliefs.
When I was a child of ten, perhaps eleven years old, Publius Varrus had said something to me that I had never forgotten. He had caught me lying to him over some minor boyhood scrape, when, seeking to protect Uther from some unspecified punishment, I had claimed ignorance of my cousin's whereabouts. Uncle Varrus had taken me severely to task over the lie, emphasizing and reiterating that lying consistently contains its own punishments, feeding upon itself to the point at which the liar loses all respect and credibility. He had kept coming back to the point for weeks, until I grew heartily sick of it, but then he had concluded the lesson by asking me if I knew what the liar's tragedy was. He insisted that I think about his question and find an answer to it, so I thought, and I thought. Finally, I thought I knew the answer.
"Well?" Uncle Varrus asked me.
"I think... once a man has become a really bad liar... a habitual liar... then his tragedy must be that, no matter what he says, no one will ever be able to believe him. "
My uncle nodded. "That is really awful, isn't it? Would. you like to be in that situation?"
"No. "
"No, nor would I. To go through life knowing that no one will believe you about anything must be truly terrible.But you know, Cay, that is not the liar's tragedy. The liar's tragedy is far, far worse. "
I gazed at him, wide-eyed. "How, Uncle? What could be worse than that?"
'This, Cay: the real tragedy of the liar is that he can never believe anyone else. "