I DIDN’T answer straight away. I was wondering how much to say. To any other officer I might have told a quick and easy half-truth, but Uther was likely to ride me hard, and for anyone who had been at a meeting both ‘secret and illegal’, Uther was not just ‘any officer’, he was dangerous. Not that there was any reason for me to protect Belasius, but I did not owe information—or explanation—to anyone but Ambrosius. In any case, to steer aside from Uther’s anger came naturally.

So I met his eyes with what I hoped was an expression of frankness. “My pony went lame, sir, so I left my servant to walk him home, and took my servant’s horse to ride back myself.” As he opened his mouth to speak, I hoisted the invisible shield that Belasius had put into my hand. “Usually your brother sends for me after supper, and I didn’t wish to keep him waiting.”

His brows snapped down at my mention of Ambrosius, but all he said was: “Why that way, at this hour? Why not by the road?”

“We’d gone some way into the forest when Aster hurt himself. We had turned east at the crossways into the logging track, and there was a path branching south from that which looked like a quicker way home, so we took it. The moonlight made it quite easy to see.”

“Which path was this?”

“I don’t know the forest, sir. It climbed the ridge and then down to a ford about a mile downstream.”

He considered me for a moment, frowning. “Where did you leave your servant?”

“A little way along the second path. We wanted to be quite sure that it was the right way before he let me come on alone. He’ll be about climbing the ridge now, I should think.” I was praying, confusedly but sincerely, to whatever god might be listening, that Cadal was not at the moment riding back from town to find me.

Uther regarded me, sitting his fidgeting horse as if it did not exist. It was the first time I had realised how like his brother he was. And for the first time, too, I recognised something like power in him, and understood, young as I was, what Ambrosius had told me about his brilliance as a captain. He could judge men to a hairsbreadth. I knew he was looking straight through me, scenting a lie, not knowing where, or why, but wondering. And determined to find out . . .

For once he spoke quite pleasantly, without heat, even gently. “You’re lying, aren’t you? Why?”

“It’s quite true, my lord. If you look at my pony when he comes in—”

“Oh, yes, that was true. I’ve no doubt I’ll find he’s lame. And if I send men back up the path they’ll find Cadal leading him home. But what I want to know—”