The Sword of the Spirits (10 page)

I had been waiting for this. His family's nobility was as ancient as Blaine's. He himself had not only served the city well but, unlike fat Blaine, had a reputation for wisdom and sound thinking. When my father was killed it had been Harding who had rallied the Captains. If Peter had not retaken the city there was little doubt he would have been proclaimed Prince. His voice on our side counted for more than all the others put together.

And there was something else. I had spoken to him privately on the way here. Edmund and Charles must go, and Blaine with them, but I had told him that if he asked for pardon for Stuart and Turner I would grant it. They could keep their troops, and even their places in my council. If he put it to them as a duty to the city I was sure they would accept. In this way we would split Blaine's forces; and he himself, seeing his situation as hopeless, would probably choose banishment rather than certain death.
Harding had listened to me, and nodded.

Now he spoke quietly. He spoke of the city, and of the men who had served it through many generations. He did not pick out the deeds of his own family: he did not need to. He spoke of old battles. Victories had united the men of Winchester, but defeats scarcely less. Triumph and disaster had been met together, enjoyed or endured together.

He had their ear. I watched Stuart and Turner, and saw how they were affected. He was leading them with cunning. They would be his men even before he asked for their pardon and I granted it.

But he was in no hurry. He spoke of the increase, in recent years, in the city's power and prosperity. This had happened under the rule of the Perrys. Although not of ancient nobility this family had served the city well: Prince Luke—he bowed slightly to me—not least. When one thought of the city, of its great past and greater future, what did it matter where a girl, even the daughter of a king, bestowed her affections? The Wilsh were a faraway people, and no concern of ours.

I saw Stuart thump the table, and thought: we have them!

Harding paused before he spoke again. He said:

“That is the credit balance. There are also debits to consider. Power and prosperity have grown, but so have discord and intrigue. There has been treachery and plotting and murder, more than was ever known before. And so we come to this moment, with the Captains in arms against each other, the city divided.

“I have said that the affections of a girl do not matter, and that is true. But it involves the Prince, and the Prince involves us all. Can the Prince pardon those who, for any reason, have taken sword against him? And if he does, will not the city fall into new dissension, having a Prince whom none respect?”

He paused once more. “Luke, as Prince, has brought honor to our city. He is a great warrior, though young, and rules not only here but in Petersfield and Romsey as well. But being young he has made mistakes. He burned wheatfields in front of Petersfield, a thing utterly condemned by the Spirits. He made a dwarf warrior, contrary to all custom. And now he has, through passion, brought us to the verge of civil war.”

Anger rose in me. There was no mistaking the
change in tone. I knew myself betrayed again and got to my feet. With my hand on my sword hilt, I said:

“Do you challenge me, then, Harding? Does any man?”

Harding shook his head. “I do not challenge you, Luke. There has been enough challenging, enough making and unmaking of Princes. I ask you to do this city a greater service than you have so far done. I ask you to abdicate from ruling.”

I laughed. “So that you may peacefully take my place?”

“No.” He looked not at me but along the table at the Captains. “Times change. The office of Prince was once a necessary thing, binding the citizens together. But the city has grown and will grow, and it unites us no longer. We are the city, gentlemen, we few. It is we who have the power to rule it, and the responsibility to exercise that power. Today has shown something: that what divides us divides the city. We no longer need one man to tell us what to do. Our wisdom joined together is greater than that of any Prince.

“If one of us challenged Luke and took his place, what good would that do? Would the intrigue and
dissension cease? I think they might grow worse. But if power is shared between us there can be an end to envy. What do you think of this?”

The shout of approval from Blaine's end of the table was only to be expected. But I heard others shout with them: Nicoll and Ripon, Becket and Grant and Barnes.

Harding waited until they were quiet; then he said:

“I ask you again, Luke, to do this service. Abdicate peacefully. Join us as a free and equal Captain. You will be welcome in our council.”

Their faces swam before me; I was half blind with rage. I said:

“You know your answer.”

“Then I must put another proposition to the assembly,” Harding said. “That we dismiss this Prince, doing him no hurt, and exile him from our city. Raise your right hands, all who approve of it.”

Their hands went up: Blaine's, Edmund's, Charles's, Stuart's and Turner's. And with them Nicoll's, Ripon's, Becket's, Grant's, Barnes's. At last, slowly, without looking at me, Greene raised his hand with the rest. Only old Wilson sat unmoving.

“The majority favors it,” Harding said. “We rest the authority of Winchester in the council of Captains.”

I said: “I claim the right of any Prince to challenge his usurper! Or will you make an end of honor?”

“There is no usurper, Captain Perry,” Harding said. “And the word Prince has lost its meaning. Leave us, and go in peace into your exile.”

I half-drew my sword. Their eyes watched me, my enemies and my false friends. There were enough who would be glad of the excuse to cut me down. I let the sword slip back.

“This is not the end,” I said. “I am your Prince still, and the day will come when you know it. Remember today's work well. There will be a bloody harvest from this sowing.”

Harding smiled. “Go in peace, while you still may.”

I turned and left them.

I
SAW ANOTHER DAWN BREAK
next day, for I left the city while it was still dark. I would not stay for daylight and accept the shame of pointing fingers and the jeers of the mob. And revenge spurred me on equally with shame. The sooner I was away, the sooner I could return. Harding's head, I vowed, would sit above those of the rest.

While I was in the stables, saddling my horse, I heard a sound from the shadows behind me. I turned swiftly, hand on sword. It was not impossible, not even unlikely, that for all the talk of doing me no hurt, an assassin or more than one had been put to
seek me out and kill me. Both Blaine and Harding were capable of it.

But the figure spoke as it came forward. “It is I, sire.” I recognized the dwarfish frame. It was Hans.

I said: “How did you know I would be here?”

“I did not,” Hans said, “but I knew you would need your horse. I was waiting until you came.”

“All night?”

He shrugged. “I dozed. We dwarfs are easy sleepers.”

I took his hand. “It was a kind thought, to bid me good-by. I am glad of it.”

“Not that, sire. I come to travel with you.”

“No. That too warms me. But the journey I go I must make alone. Return to your home, Hans.”

He said quietly, in his deep rasping voice:

“I have no home here now.”

I recalled what he had said a moment before: “we dwarfs.” He had left Dwarftown to serve me as a warrior. That was something which could not survive my going. He had lost everything as I had done, and it mattered as much to him as it did to me.

“Then come with me,” I said. I laughed. “The High Seers must take us both together.”

“The High Seers?” He was startled. “You go to Sanctuary, sire?”

Dwarfs did not pay much attention to the Spirits, but it was a dread thought to envisage going to the place men said was their stronghold. I said:

“You need not go there if you fear it. We will find a place where you can wait for me. In Salisbury, perhaps.”

“I will go where you go, sire. I do not fear it.”

“Good!” I said. “But no ‘sires,' Hans. ‘Sire' is for Princes and I am Prince no longer. You may call me Captain: they have left me that.”

Hans shook his head. “You are Prince to me, sire. And always will be.”

It was strange that the loyalty of a single man, a dwarf, could mean more than a city's acclamation. I turned my face away.

“Saddle yourself a horse, Hans,” I said. “Take which you will. All are sound beasts. This was the Prince's stable.”

•  •  •

We spent that night at the court of Prince Matthew of Andover.

The last time I had been his guest had been on
my journey south with Ezzard, after Peter called me back from Sanctuary. But we had met more recently, when he came to Winchester for the ball in Blodwen's honor. I had had much flattery from him then.

He was a stupid amiable man, with a thin dull face and scanty reddish hair. His chief concern, as far as one could see, was ceremony. The army of Andover might not do conspicuously well in battle, but no other city's troops could match them in turnout and parade drill. The guard that saluted us at the gate wore a breastplate that he must have sat up all night polishing.

The pigeons, I knew, would have brought news of what had happened in Winchester. People gathered in small knots as we rode through the streets, silent and curious. At the palace—not a large building but freshly painted in stripes of black and white—we dismounted, and I left Hans with the horses. I was admitted to Matthew's council chamber, and he wasted no time in making the position clear.

He remained seated as I crossed the room toward him. I bowed and said:

“Greetings, sire.”

He did not return the bow. With a stiff face, he said:

“Greetings, Captain Perry.”

But once he had established what we two were—himself a Prince and I a landless wanderer—he could permit some amiability to show again. He ordered a room to be prepared for me in the palace, and bade me join him that evening at his table. And I mustered the grace somehow to thank him for his hospitality.

I told myself that I could spurn no possible ally, even this fool with his passion for putting things neatly in rows. At supper that night I talked of what had happened. This embarrassed him but he offered cold sympathy. I led him to the point I wished to make, putting it broadly enough to penetrate his narrow skull but delicately as befitted one who was no longer a royal cousin but a vagabond. The point was this: if one city could unmake its Prince and replace him by a council of Captains, others might do likewise.

He took it but was not impressed. From stupidity again, I thought, and lack of imagination, but I misjudged him there. He said, with more
cunning than I would have given him credit for:

“Who proposed your deposition in that council? Harding. So at the outset he speaks for the others. It is a council of Captains but one man is its voice. How long before he has a Prince's power, and once he has that will he not take the name?”

It was something that had occurred to me also. Blaine would fight him to the end, but Blaine was no match for him in craft. Nor would Blaine's arming of the Wilsh be soon forgotten.

I said: “This may be. But if such a pretext can be used once it can be used again. It sets the authority of Captains above that of Prince.”

“I do not think so, Perry.” My own name was an insult. He smiled complacently. “I am safe from challenge from my Captains.”

“As short a time since as yesterday morning, I thought the same.”

Impatience and anger had sharpened my voice. He frowned at that. There were tones to use to Princes, and this was not among them. His own voice turned hard.

“But I am not likely to lose my head over a wench,” he said.

He stared at me, weak blue eyes narrowed in a spite that must always have lain hidden behind the flattery he showed me at my court.

“Nor burn harvest crops. Nor call a dwarf warrior, offending warriors of true human stock. Nor take another Prince's city as my own.”

He watched me. Anger burned my mind, forging bitter words to answer him. But I held them back. I had offended him already. Offending him further might well be enough to earn me a place in his cells. And once in them, the Great alone knew when I would be freed.

So I said: “You are right, sire. I am punished for my faults.”

His smile returned. He clapped his hands and a polymuf brought another dish to the table.

“Try this meat, Perry. We have done well for boar this year.”

I was shivering. “I am not hungry, sire.”

Matthew leaned forward. “But I would have you eat.”

There was no ally here but a Prince I must obey. I took meat and forced myself to eat it.

•  •  •

Tired though I was I had little sleep that night. My thoughts were baying hounds that leaped round me, their stricken prey, savage and merciless. I tried to kill them, but from each blow they rose and gave louder tongue. And the hounds wore mocking faces: Harding, Blaine, Greene. Most of all, Edmund and Blodwen. They laughed at me and at each other; but the first was the laughter of scorn, the second of joy and desire.

And with this I sweated and shivered. In the morning my limbs were heavy and my head ached with a pain that throbbed behind my eyes. The shivering would not stop. Matthew noticed it when I went to pay my respects on departure. He asked:

“Are you well, Perry?”

“Well enough, sire.”

“You do not look well. You are welcome to stay longer, and I can have my surgeon sent to you. Or at least one of his assistants.”

I gritted my teeth. My need to be clear of this man and his court put aside for a moment my other thoughts of hatred and revenge. I said: