The Sword of the Spirits (6 page)

I remember a day in high summer when we went
in boats on the river. There were no more than a dozen of us in the party, all young. We went down river, scarcely needing to row because the current took us. It was a fine morning, the sky blue and white, the sun hot when it pierced the clouds. We went a long way, past Twyford, and on to the place where the river meanders through a broad valley of water meadows.

We picnicked there and then lay idly on the grass of the river bank, the boats moored and bobbing beside us, and talked and laughed and were pleasantly idle. We were on our own, with no servants even, and I could lay aside the cares and countenance of a Prince. Apart from Blodwen there were three other girls, one of them Jenny. They were pretty enough in their summer dresses. But compared with Blodwen they were daisies to a rose.

Her dress was green, with long full sleeves. It was a Wilsh cloth, more brightly hued than any we had in the south. Its brightness made the grass look dull, as her beauty made the other girls seem plain.

We had no minstrels either, but Edmund and Matthew Grant had brought their lutes. They played them for our amusement, and Edmund sang. He had
a good voice, high but sweet and true. One of his songs was “The Miller of Dee,” and Blodwen, applauding it, said:

“We have that same song in my country! In fact it is said that he lived beside the river higher up the valley in which Klan Gothlen lies. It is called the Dee.”

Edmund laughed. “And do you have this song also?”

His fingers plucked the strings in a slow haunting tune. He sang:

“Oh Greensleeves was all my joy,

Greensleeves was my delight,

Greensleeves was my heart of gold,

And who but Lady Greensleeves?”

She clapped her hands and said: “I have heard it, but never so well sung, I think. You should be a minstrel, Edmund.”

I laughed. “I cannot spare him, though! I have more need of him as a warrior.”

It was not long after that the cares of state caught up with me again. Horsemen came riding toward us
along the river bank. It was Greene with a small troop. The pigeons had brought word from Romsey: there was trouble there. It had been put down and the garrison was in no danger, but Greene had thought it best to tell me.

He had had the sense also to bring a spare mount. We were almost as near Romsey as Winchester. I said:

“We had better ride over and make sure.”

Blodwen protested: “Do not spoil such a day as this, Luke! He has told you there is no danger.”

I hesitated, but said: “No, I must go, my love. There will be other days to enjoy. Edmund will row you back for me. Will you not, Edmund?”

“As my Prince commands,” he said, “though I would point out that it will be against the stream. I shall expect a good wage for such heavy work.”

We laughed, and I said to Blodwen: “Give him his supper, and a pot of ale to cool him.”

“You will not be back this night?”

I shook my head. “I think not. But tomorrow, certain.”

I looked back as we rode away. Blodwen sat with her knees drawn up and her small hands clasped over
them. Edmund stood by her, playing the lute and singing. It was a fine scene and I was reluctant to leave it. But as I had said, there would be other days.

•  •  •

Martin came to see me in the palace one night a few weeks after this. He wasted no time, but said:

“I have come to say good-by.”

“Good-by!” I was astonished. “You are not leaving us?”

He nodded. I thought how absurd he looked with his tonsured head and spectacles above the Acolyte's black cloak. It was hard to believe that he had once fought at my side in the Contest. But despite the absurdity, perhaps because of it, I felt an uprush of affection for him.

I said: “To go where?”

“To Sanctuary.”

“But for how long?”

“I don't know. Perhaps for good.”

“You cannot do that, Martin,” I said. “Visit your High Seers, if you must, and see their wonders. But then come back to me. They can offer nothing to make up for having to live underground like a mole, with neither sunlight nor fresh air.” I spoke with
more confidence, remembering my own time in Sanctuary and how I had chafed against its confinement and restrictions. “You could not do it. It is different for the High Seers. They are old men but you are young.”

“I cannot stay here. I cannot go on with the trickery and deception and lies in the Seance Hall. The end may be good but I cannot tolerate these means. That Christian Bishop mocked me for it and I had no answer.”

I said: “He will bear watching, that one. He knows too much and speaks too freely. I have warned Grimm of it. But if this is all your problem, it is easily solved. I told you once before I could rid you of that black dress if you wished. It is still more true now. I have only to say a word to Grimm and you are dispensed from the vows you took.”

He smiled, but with no joy. “And what shall I do then? I am no warrior and would prove a poor courtier.”

“You can be my friend and counselor, as you were when we were boys together. If you desire an office I can call you Chancellor, as Cymru calls Snake, the polymuf who advises him.”

“And if I advised you to give Petersfield and Romsey back to their citizens? You need no counselor, Luke.”

“I need friends.”

“It is no good. Not much more than a year ago I hung in chains, with faggots round my feet, and men with torches ready to light them. You saved me, but it marks one to watch a hard and ugly death draw close. I must do something with the life you gave back to me, and it is not enough to sit at court and be your friend.”

I could not follow his thoughts. A man faced death, but when death drew back forgot it until the next time. But there was a desperation in his face. I felt suddenly cold. I had friends already, and Blodwen, but I did not want to lose him. Yet I would make no plea. I said:

“So be it. The Spirits go with you.”

A
T THE TIME OF THE
autumn fair, with the campaigns over and the fields harvested, we held a great ball in Blodwen's honor. I sent the pigeons far and wide and got fair answer. The Princes of Guildford and Basingstroke, Alton and Andover and Salisbury came to us as guests. Strohan was in desperation, finding room for them all in the palace. And the Prince of Oxford sent his son.

Oxford was a city of great power and influence, ruling much territory. Towns as remote as Marlborough, more than thirty miles away across hilly
country, stood under its sovereignty. The Seers must have thought of this city before they chose Winchester as the pivot of their plan. I guessed that their reason for rejecting it was because it lay remote, on the edge of the civilized lands, while we lay at the heart. Their northern border was the Burning Lands. Under that smoking sky, livid with flame by night, they were remote in a different sense: they were a sullen people, content to keep to themselves. Probably that was another reason why the Seers had looked elsewhere.

Our armies had never met theirs in the field, and there had never before been a royal visit. I knew why this invitation had been accepted. I ruled three cities now from Winchester. Even in the remoteness of Oxford that was something to cause sober thought. The Prince had sent his son to take a close look at me and my city.

I was prepared to be treated warily, and to treat him warily in return. He was a few years older than I, and had been heir to his father's throne all his life. I expected an aloof unfriendly man, mindful of the power I had won but at the same time despising me as an upstart. When the Seer of Oxford named him
Prince in Waiting, my father had been a common Sergeant, not yet ennobled.

But my anticipation went much amiss. His name was Eric and in character he gave the lie to his townsmen's reputation. He was olive-skinned, handsome apart from a broken nose and the scar of a sword slash on the side of his neck, and he smiled easily. He talked easily too, in the drawling accent of his city.

I could see that he was setting himself out to please me, and at first my wariness was reinforced by this. But I found there was more to him than charm: much more. When we sat alone together in my parlor, he talked good sense and with frankness.

He said: “You will know why I have come, Luke. Your reputation has traveled far, and grown as it traveled. Old stories are recalled. Of a Seance, for instance, where you were named as one who would be Prince of Princes. Men fear you for what you have achieved, and might yet achieve.”

I watched him, making no comment on this. He said:

“I came expecting to find someone crazed with power and vainglory, to hunt out his weaknesses against a future conflict. I find you a reasonable
man. I think our minds may not lie far apart. We are both young. We both look for change from old and stupid ways.”

He smiled. “It is far worse, I think, in Oxford than in Winchester. Nothing can be done there that was not done last year. My father is not a bad man, but stern and inflexible. As a child I earned a few thrashings for not obeying the rules. After that I learned to give them lip service, and keep my own counsel.

“But it is time there was change. As I say, the stories of Luke of Winchester run fast, in and out of many cities, and reach us, too. Stories of your journey to the north, where you killed the Bayemot, and stories of your conquests. But there is one I have only heard since I came here: of how you decreed a dwarf should be a warrior. I like that one. It gives a different ring to all the others.”

I did not disappoint him by telling him I had done it to keep a pledge rather than to bring about change for its own sake. And though I believed him honest I could not tell him the secrets of the Seers. But here was someone who might be a strong ally when the time was ripe. He himself put it into words:

“I have fought with our army and will again if there is need. But these battles achieve nothing, serve no useful purpose. The time for petty rulers is over. We need a single government to give laws throughout the land. I think I have fathomed your aim, and if I have I agree with it. I can do nothing while my father lives, but he is an old man and sick. When I can help, I will.”

I said: “I believe you, Eric. And this is good to hear.”

“One other thing. You will not find me jealous of your glory. I seek only to be your lieutenant. When the time comes I will gladly bend a knee to the Prince of Princes.”

•  •  •

It was not in my nature to trust any but a well-tried friend, and I had learned enough of the princely craft, and of the lies and intrigues that surround it, not to be deceived by fair words and smiles. I would not relax my guard with Eric of Oxford, as my father so fatally had done with Fat Jeremy. But though I would keep my precautions I did believe him honest. And liked him also.

It would serve all my ends to bind him closer to
us. As it happened, there was something which could help bring that about. He met my Captains and their Ladies, among them Edmund's sister, Jenny. And it was plain that he was taken with her.

Thereafter I took care that they were thrown together. He was, I knew, unmarried and unbetrothed, as she was. He was happy to be in Winchester, free of the gloom and protocol of Oxford. In this mood he might be glad to take a girl of this city back with him as a bride. And it would suit me very well to have him do so.

Nor was Jenny a person to whom even the Prince of Oxford could object as a future lady for his son. She came of a family that had been noble for generations—since the Disaster—and her father had been Prince of Winchester. It would be a good match.

I told only Blodwen of my hopes. She did not dispute the advantages, but said:

“I think you will find him eager enough. I am not so sure of her.”

“But she likes him. Anyone can see she does. Did you not see them laughing together only this morning?”

Blodwen smiled. “Liking is not loving.”

“His looks are good enough. He is a tried warrior. He is cheerful and has a nimble wit. And he is a Prince's son, Prince in Waiting to a great city. What more could she want?”

“Poor Luke! You know how to wage war or make a treaty, but in the trivial small maze of a woman's mind you are lost utterly. Jenny does not need telling any of that; she sees it before you do. But if she does not have a heart to give, it is no help.”

“But she is not betrothed!”

“No,” Blodwen said, “she is not betrothed.” She sighed. “I will not argue with you. Perhaps it will fall out as you hope. Luke, I must go. There is a last fitting for my gown for tonight. I do not want to disgrace you at the ball.”

•  •  •

I was with Jenny when Blodwen came into the Hall of Mirrors. There was a sudden hush in the talk. I recalled a similar silence falling on the Wilsh court in Cymru's throne room, the night I saw her first, and turned to look.

She had brought her other dresses with her, but this one had been made by our Winchester tailors.
The cloth was silk, less fine and less brightly dyed than that of the Wilsh: a dull crimson. But to make up for it they had put heavy gold braid at the neck and hem and on the deep cuffs. And they had cut it cunningly so that it clung close to her, and yet swirled from her as she walked.

I said, involuntarily: “By the Great, have you ever seen anything so lovely?”

“No,” Jenny said. Her voice was small. “Nothing.”

“I must go to her,” I said. “And I think Eric is looking for you, Jenny.”

“Then I suppose I must wait here until he finds me.”

She turned away, and I went to Blodwen. I was almost afraid to touch her when we stood up together for the first dance, but she took my hand firmly with her small warm one, and tugged me sharply into line when I made a false step. I had never had much skill in these enterprises.