Philip was dubious as to the wisdom of splitting their forces, but he wisely said nothing and merely asked the King how far he thought he and the others might be behind them, once they had delivered the Queen safely to her meeting place. Uther estimated that he would be three days at the most before riding to overtake Philip, but he was emphatic that Philip must not wait for him and his party. He must get his own men home to Camulod in safety and as quickly as possible.
Philip listened, nodded, offered no opinion pro or contra the King's decision and promptly set about marshalling his forces for the ride home. Uther and his party waited until the larger group had disappeared from sight along the valley to the east, and then the King gave the signal to resume their march south. Behind them, far to the north and low on the horizon, the sky was obscured by a low, dense pall of drifting smoke.
Chapter THIRTY-NINE
They reached the River Camel an hour before sunset, by which time the wind from the south had strengthened into a whipping, buffeting gale, although it brought no rain. Uther left a squad of cavalry behind as guards, posting them on the highest point of land to watch for unwelcome activity along the path his group had travelled. He did not believe there might still be danger threatening from there, but he would take no chances.
He had decided that they might be wise to camp for the night in some sheltered spot along the last league that separated them from the western sea. The river was placid, neither deep nor wide, although their Cornish guide told them that this was due only to the time of year, and that in winter and springtime the flood became impassable. Uther had already recognized that from the width of the broad, boulder-strewn expanse on either side of the stream bed and the fact that nothing green grew among the stones. There were drowned trees and bushes aplenty on both sides, all of them littered with masses of dead, trailing weeds, and he could see the high-water mark where the dried, dead grass and mosses clinging to the stones marked the height of the floodwaters. Beyond the flood spill and the banks on both sides, the forest was dense, although he could see few large trees.
Uther rode along the riverbank, scanning the growth on both sides with great care, but he saw nothing suspicious and felt no discomfort with his surroundings, and his resolve to camp somewhere inland for the night grew stronger. He had no wish to forge ahead and reach the coast in deep dusk, when he would be committed to making a camp hurriedly in some unexplored spot where they might find themselves trapped with the sea at their backs. All their fine leather tents and creature comforts had been left behind on the high hillside plateau overlooking the battlefield, so there would be little luxury in their camp that night. They would sleep on the ground, under the stars, wrapped in their cloaks—something to which all of them, except the Queen and her women, were inured by a lifetime of hardship. Better then, he thought, to sleep on the relatively soft earth of a dry mud riverbank than on the hard, pebbly surface of a sea beach.
They eventually found a secure camping spot on the far side of the river, midway between the point at which they had reached the Camel itself and the place where it spilled out into the sea, and as soon as Uther had examined the site to his own satisfaction, he gave the welcome signal to dismount. The spot was sheltered among a grove of enormous old evergreens and backed by a high stone cliff, with a spring of clear, fresh water that bubbled at its base and splashed down onto the rocks bordering the stream bed. As soon as they dismounted, some of the men left their horses to their mates and set about lighting fires and preparing the campsite, while others went foraging for an evening meal. Those who remained shared the task of unsaddling and grooming the mounts of the workers when they had finished looking after their own animals. The foragers did well; there were fish in the stream and deer in the forest, and so there was no shortage of fresh food that night for the King's weary party.
Later in the evening, but well before darkness fell, Uther stood by smiling while his infant son was bathed in warm water and made ready for sleep, and then, as the child suckled at his mother's breast until his strangely beautiful, gold-flecked eyes fluttered several times and finally closed, Uther stood close behind Ygraine with his hand resting lightly on her neck, while she leaned back against him for support. Around them, the camp was in that state of pleasant anticipation brought on by the end of the day's labours and the tantalizing smells of a meal in the final stages of preparation. The first watch of guards was in place, and nothing marred the stillness of the evening peace, but Uther felt a sudden, familiar prickling sensation on the nape of his neck and turned casually to see who was watching him.
No one was, as far as he could see, and he dismissed the feeling, shrugging it away and turning back towards his small, new family.
Ygraine stood up, holding the child securely, and went to place him in his leather sleeping bag, and Uther held the backpack open until she was satisfied that the baby was properly installed and sleeping comfortably. They left him then in the care of Dyllis and made their way slowly, arm in arm and talking fondly about the child's sweet temperament, towards the centre of the clearing, where the men who had cooked the various dishes were preparing to serve them. Uther cut each of them a thick slice of venison from the inside of a haunch, laying the meat on two thick slabs of heavy, wholesome bread that they had brought with them, baked the night before the battle to the north, then led Ygraine to a spot by the waterside close to the spring, where they settled down, listening to the birdsong that assured them there was nothing dangerous lurking among the trees.
Behind them, however, opposite the high cliff and high on the grassy slope of a small hill that rose above the trees to the west of them and overlooked the camp, they were indeed being watched. A man lay there, concealed behind a clump of grass. He lay almost motionless, gathering his strength and watching the activity below, and as he did so, he rubbed unconsciously at the stub of the single finger remaining on his left hand.
He and his companions had barely managed to escape the path of the growing lire that Uther's men had set in the narrow valley to the north, but they had clambered safely to the top of the western ridge and then swooped down to safety in the valley beyond, where they had stopped to rest and recover their breath before their leader decided what to do next.
They knew the enemy they were pursuing could not be far ahead, and they knew that the women in the fleeing party were slowing them down, making it possible for their hunters to catch up. But now they found themselves on the wrong side of the crest, and the hillsides on the other side were ablaze. Sooner or later, the leader knew, he and his men would have to cross over the ridge again to regain the valley they had so recently left. He had summoned the six fastest runners among the four score who remained alive with him and sent them off to the southward, bidding them run as far and fast as they could, until they could scale the ridge again and find the enemy.
The runners had fallen away one at a time as exhaustion overtook them, but One-Finger, the last and strongest, had run on, his long, wiry legs and effortless stride devouring distance. The lie of the land itself and the thickness of the brush that choked the hillsides had dictated the route he must take, and that route had pushed him farther and farther west, away from the ridge on his left side as it sank lower and lower, its summit angling steadily downwards towards sea level, until he lost sight of it completely, separated from it by at least two miles and hemmed in by an impenetrable press of stunted, thorny, bushy trees that defied him to enter them and fight his way through. Then, finally, just as he had been on the point of collapsing and giving up, he had broken out of the high bushes that surrounded him and found himself on the bank of a river. He had fallen on his knees and drunk the river water, then rolled in the stream, cooling his exhausted body. And afterwards he had climbed up onto the biggest boulder he could find and looked about for a high vantage point. He saw only one possible location, a solitary, low hill thrusting up from the trees from which he had just emerged, about half a league east of where he stood. He had headed directly towards it and had breasted it just in time to see the arrival of Uther's party at their campsite.