Saxenow. But why did it gall him so? Igerna chided him about his pride, but wasn’t he the High King?
Should he just depart? Spit on their mud? But he couldn’t afford to break the line of beacons. Not with the Saxenow building their strength on the eastern shore.
Maybe Tregeagle could … Tregeagle! That two-faced, money-grubbing druid lover.
Uther was in a precarious position. If he captured the Tor by force from Tregeagle, he could spare only a few men, and Vortigern said the place was a trap without better stonework and new timber. It would be simple for the druidow to take it over after he left.
And the Stone? Dreamlike feelings had come over him when he’d looked at it. A vision had appeared of himself conquering his enemies, even besieging Rome to take it back from the barbarians. Oh, how he’d longed for that since last year when Odoacer had conquered the empire’s capital and deposed Orestes and his young son Romulus Augustulus. Uther the emperor … Yes, the Stone had thrilled him!
But then he’d felt an icy claw begin to scrape his neck, the pain slicing into his heart. And if it hadn’t been for the vexations of Mórganthu’s son, that fool with the reeking breath, Uther might not have pulled his eyes away. Moreover, hadn’t he called out to the Christ? He could barely remember now. And if Colvarth was right, this village’s bewitchment was just the beginning of the arch druid’s plans. Uther needed a council. And quickly.
But first he needed to get away from the village. Set up his tents on some defensible hill. Give his horses room for action. And the sooner out of this cramped, smelly roundhouse, the better.
“Ho! Battle chief. Pack us up to move,” Uther called through the dark press of men.
Vortigern pushed through the warriors. “For the Tor?”
“No. We will find no proper welcome there. Our magister has left his loyalty in the dust.”
“Here isn’t bad. The horses have grass —”
“Not in the village.”
“Don’t you like it?”
“No. And you?” Uther said, arching his eyebrow.
“Eeeh.” Vortigern shrugged. “But it’s raining.”
“That has never stopped you before. Move.”
“Shall we head to the other side of the mountain? From the Tor, I’ve seen hills and a lake.”
“Fine.”
In less than half an hour, the whole company was on the move to the other side of the mountain. Once they arrived, Vortigern pointed to a flat hill between the lake and the marsh.
Uther surveyed the land and nodded. There, with the rain falling lightly, the warriors raised his campaign tent and soon had their own tents set up as well.
The rains quickened again, and before Uther closed his tent flap, he gazed out over the long marsh to the west. Out on an island, he spied a stone tower surrounded by ruins. It stood perhaps twenty-five feet tall, and at its top a single dark window opened eastward.
Peculiar. What was a tower doing in the marsh?
“Vortigern,” Uther called.
No answer.
“Vortigern!” Where was that slumber-loving battle chief?
Merlin, who had come with Colvarth, tapped with his staff until he stood behind Uther. “Can I fetch him for you?”
“There is a tower on that island yonder. Tell me its history.”
“No one knows for sure, my lord. It goes back further than the founding of the village.”
“How old is Bosventor?”
Merlin closed his eyes. “I am told that around a hundred years ago, monks from the coast escaped inland to avoid sea raiders. People followed, and they rebuilt the Tor.”
“Rebuilt?”
“The Romans had built the fort to run the tin and copper mining.”
“The tower in the marsh,” Uther asked, “is that Roman too?”
Merlin paused before answering. “Our lore says not, my lord. Some say it was built by a tin merchant before the Romans conquered Britain, but no one really knows. We call it Pergiryn’s, the tower of the pilgrim. The isle is named Inis Avallow. My sister and I have picked apples there.”
Uther parted the tent flap and gazed once more across the marsh. As Uther studied the tower, a light flashed from its window. “What was that?” he exclaimed. “Did you see it?”
“No, my lord. I can see colors and things moving, but my vision is blurry —”
Uther felt the heat rise to his cheeks when he realized he’d asked such a question. “I see a light from the tower … from the window.”
Merlin paused. “Others have also sworn they saw a light in the tower, but no one has been to the top to know what it could be. There’s a