Uther was beside me suddenly. “Well, Merlin the bastard? They’re saying you won the battle for us from the hilltop?” I noticed, with surprise, that there was no malice in his tone. His manner was relaxed, easy, almost gay, like that of a prisoner let loose. I supposed this was indeed how he felt after the long frustration of the years in Brittany. Left to himself Uther would have charged across the Narrow Sea before he was fairly into manhood, and been valiantly smashed in pieces for his pains. Now, like a hawk being flown for the first time at the quarry, he was feeling his power. I could feel it, too: it clothed him like folded wings. I said something in greeting, but he interrupted me. “Did you see anything in the flames just now?”

“Oh, not you, too,” I said warmly. “The Commander seems to think all I have to do is to look at a torch and tell the future. I’ve been trying to explain it doesn’t work like that.”

“You disappoint me. I was going to ask you to tell my fortune.”

“Oh, Eros, that’s easy enough. In about an hour’s time, as soon as you’ve settled your men, you’ll be bedded down with a girl.”

“It’s not as much of a certainty as all that. How the devil did you know I’d managed to find one? They’re not very thick on the ground just here—there’s only about one man in fifty managed to get one. I was lucky.”

“That’s what I mean,” I said. “Given fifty men and only one woman amongst them, then Uther has the woman. That’s what I call one of the certainties of life. Where will I find Caius Valerius?”

“I’ll send someone to show you. I’d come myself, only I’m keeping out of his way.”

“Why?”

“When we tossed for the girl, he lost,” said Uther cheerfully. “He’ll have plenty of time to look after you. In fact, all night. Come along.”

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SIX

WE went into York three days before the end of May.

Ambrosius’ scouts had confirmed his guess about York; there was a good road north from Kaerconan, and Octa had fled up this with Eosa his kinsman, and had taken refuge in the fortified city which the Romans called Eboracum, and the Saxons Eoforwick, or York. But the fortifications at York were in poor repair, and the inhabitants, when they heard of Ambrosius’ resounding victory at Kaerconan, offered the fleeing Saxons cold comfort. For all Octa’s speed, Ambrosius was barely two days behind him, and at the sight of our vast army, rested, and reinforced by fresh British allies encouraged by the Red Dragon’s victories, the Saxons, doubting whether they could hold the city against him, decided to beg for mercy.