I had never before met a woman with whom I did not have to choose my words, to whom I could speak as I would speak to another man. I said: “Your husband can have no reason to suspect you are pregnant by any man but himself. So you will tell him this, and tell him also that you fear for the child’s health if you stay longer in London, under the strain of the gossip and the King’s attentions. Tell him that you wish to leave as soon as the crowning is over. That you do not wish to go to the feast, to be distinguished by the King, and to be the centre of all the eyes and the gossip. You will go with Gorlois and the Cornish troop tomorrow, before the gates shut at sunset. The news will not come to Uther until the feast.”

“But . . .” She stared again . . . “this is folly. We could have gone any time this past three weeks if we had chosen to risk the King’s anger. We are bound to stay until he gives us leave to go. If we go in that manner, for whatever reason—”

I stopped her. “Uther can do nothing on the day of the crowning. He must stay here for the days of feasting. Do you think he can give offence to Budec and Merrovius and the other kings gathered here? You will be in Cornwall before he can even move.”

“And then he will move.” She made an impatient gesture. “And there will be war, when he should be making and mending, not breaking and burning. And he cannot win: if he is the victor in the field, he loses the loyalty of the West. Win or lose, Britain is divided, and goes back into the dark.”

Yes, she would be a queen. She was on fire for Uther as much as he for her, but she could still think. She was cleverer than Uther, clear-headed, and, I thought, stronger too.

“O, yes, he will move.” I lifted a hand. “But listen to me. I will talk to the King before the crowning. He will know that the story you told Gorlois was a lie. He will know that I have told you to go to Cornwall. He will feign rage, and he will swear in public to be revenged for the insult put on him by Gorlois at the crowning . . . And he will make ready to follow you to Cornwall as soon as the feast is over—”

“But meanwhile our troops will be safely out of London without trouble. Yes, I see. I did not understand you. Go on.” She drove her hands inside the sleeves of the blue robe, and clasped her elbows, cradling her breasts. She was not so ice-calm as she looked, the Lady Ygraine. “And then?”

“And you will be safely at home,” I said, “with your honour and Cornwall’s unbroken.”