The Sword of the Spirits

TWO

PRINCE OF THE THREE CITIES

I WENT TO VISIT EDMUND’S mother the day after we returned from Petersfield. I went unaccompanied and would not let the man-servant announce me. He was normal in shape except for a withered arm and had been in her service for more than twenty years. When her husband was killed and my father took the palace he could have stayed there, a high position for a polymuf, but had chosen to go with her to the little house in Salt Street into which she had to move. She was a woman who commanded affection.

Charles, her elder son, had restored her fortunes to some extent, with bounty won in campaigns under my father and my brother. She lived in West Street now, in a bigger house though one still modest for someone who had been the Prince’s Lady. But she had never troubled herself over wealth or display. I found her in the kitchen, baking bread. She held, as few now did, to the old rule that this was something a housewife did not leave to polymufs. And she had trained her daughter, Jenny, to follow the same tradition. Jenny stood beside her at the well-scoured table, her arms like her mother’s covered with flour.

Jenny started and looked confused at my appearance. She blushed, and it became her. She had been a plain, thin-faced girl when I had first known her and—an awkward newcomer to the court life which she had lost—had felt the edge of her tongue. She was quite pretty now, especially with her cheeks flushed from the heat of the oven and her present embarrassment.

I said: “You have flour on your nose, Jenny.”

It was not true but made her lift her hand automatically to her face. Her nose was floury then. I laughed. She said indignantly, “Oh, you . . . !” then fled the kitchen.

Her mother smiled at me. “Hello, Luke. You come without ceremony and will get none, even though you return as a conqueror.”

I took a chair and straddled it. “I am glad to be back.”

This was very true. I felt at home in her house as I did not in the palace. It was a deep thing with me. I had no happy memories of my own home as a child. My mother was beautiful and I loved her, but though she was fond of small animals she did not have the gift of making a child, even her own, feel at ease; and the house itself was badly run. She did not keep her servants long and while they were with her they were slack and sullen.

Edmund’s mother said: “Thank you for the roses, Luke.”

I had ordered them to be sent down early that morning, the best blooms from the rose garden at the palace. In the old days it had been a great joy to her, and was perhaps the only material thing she missed out of all she had had there. I said:

“Everything in the garden is yours, as I have told you. You are welcome at any time, to pick the blooms or tell old Garnet how to go about his planting and grafting and seeding.”

Garnet was the palace gardener, and had held that post through many reigns. He was a polymuf giant, more than six and a half feet tall, and like most such had a weakness of the back. He could no longer stoop but had a boy—a dwarf except that he also had a cast in one eye—who did the stooping for him.

Edmund’s mother smiled. “The idea of telling Garnet anything! But I am grateful for the roses. They have done well this year.”

We talked about things of the city: pleasant gossip and without malice. She had no malice in her. She brought me a pot of cider, drawn cold from the barrel, and hot spiced biscuits from the oven. I said after a time:

“Jenny is a long time getting the flour off her face.”

“You confused her, Luke.” She smiled at me. “She pays attention to the things you say.”

I shook my head. “I can scarcely believe that. I have never been a match for her words, nor the cool hard mind that frames them.”

“She is not as cool and hard as she seems,” her mother said. “It is because they are so strong that she hides her feelings. When she was a child she used to give way to her tempers. Then afterward she was bitterly ashamed of herself. I never punished her for her tantrums; she punished herself more than I could ever have done.”

We heard footsteps in the passage, and Jenny came back. She had washed the flour off her face and hands, and had tidied her hair and put a comb in it. I said:

“Well done! That is a great improvement.”

Her face was flushed but she was composed. She dropped me a mock curtsy.

“Thank you, sire. It is something to get a word of kind approval from the Prince of the Two Cities.”

I looked at her. Yes, she was quite pretty. I thought of another girl, in a city of gaily painted domes and pinnacles on the other side of the Burning Lands. Jenny was quite pretty but Blodwen was beautiful. And Blodwen, in due time, would be my wife and Lady of this city.

• • •

That night we celebrated the victory over Petersfield. The long table was set up in the Great Hall of the palace and I sat at its head. My Captains were ranged on either side down to the first salt. Between the first salt and the second were leading merchants and other men of standing in the city. Below the second salt sat those dwarfs, such as Rudi the Armorer, who were entitled to feast at the Prince’s table.

They drank my health, and I gave back the toast, drinking the strong sweet ale out of the Prince’s golden pot that stood before me. I was not at ease that night. I drank sparingly, and made an excuse to leave as soon as was decent.

I went out onto the balcony overlooking the palace yard. There was the noise of the banquet behind me, and in front of me but farther off another din. It came from the barracks, where the soldiers were also celebrating. They would be noisier and more drunken than the Captains. I had no appetite for such a scene. I would have preferred to walk alone on the walls and watch the distant glow of the Burning Lands and think of the far northern city of Klan Gothlen. But a Prince had duties, as I already well knew, I resolved to go down to the barracks to greet my warriors.

Since it was a fine night they had brought tables and benches out into the barrack square and were feasting there. The guard at the gate saluted me—soberly, I was glad to see. The noise from the square was much greater now. And I detected a different note in it, of anger rather than rejoicing.

They were so engrossed that they did not see me. They had deserted the tables and were gathered in a corner of the square. Something was going on there. I heard cries, and the clash of swords. I shouted:

“Hold, you fools!”

A few heard me and turned; then others followed suit. They parted their ranks to let me through. These were the spectators. Inside were half a dozen with swords drawn. And backed into the corner of the square a seventh, sword also drawn to defend himself. It was Hans.

I said: “Put up your swords, all of you.”

Some of the six obeyed at once, but two hesitated. Hans looked at me and slipped his sword into its sheath. One of the two said:

“Sire, he has wounded one of our comrades—perhaps killed him.”

I noticed then another figure who lay groaning on the ground. I knew him: Foster, one of Blaine’s men. I said to the man who had spoken:

“Sheath your sword, before I order you a flogging.”

He obeyed then, and so did the other. They were both of Blaine’s troop. This one was called Sheppy. He was drunk but could talk clearly. He said:

“If we are not to kill him, sire, then he should be hanged. He has no right here, anyway—a dwarf! This is a place for warriors.”

The Watch Sergeant had come up by now. I pointed to Sheppy and the others. I said to the Sergeant:

“Arrest these men for brawling. Put them in the cells to cool off.”

The Sergeant said: “Yes, sire. And the dwarf?”

Hans looked at me but did not speak. If he were put in the cells with them he would not live till morning. According to custom he had no right here, as Sheppy had said. It was a place sacred to warriors, and they were entitled to kill anyone who was there unlawfully.

I said: “I will take him into custody myself.”

I asked Hans, once we were clear of the barracks, what had happened and he told me.

He had gone to take part in the feast, having fought and killed his man outside the walls of Petersfield. He had been received with mockery. It was good-humored at first and he had taken it cheerfully. But Foster, a cruel man when drunk, had carried things further. There was a special dance the dwarfs had at their weddings and celebrations. Foster demanded that he climb on the table and perform this. Hans refused. Foster drew his sword and said he would prick him on until he did. At that Hans drew his own sword. They fought and Hans spitted him. Then his comrades joined to take revenge. He had been trying to defend himself against the six of them when I arrived.

I had listened in silence and was silent still. Hans said:

“I am sorry, sire.” I said nothing. “I should not have gone there. But . . . they accepted me in the field, or some of them did. I guessed there might be hard words but I thought it best to learn to take them.”

We had reached the palace. I said: “This needs thought. I will see you in the morning. You are under arrest for brawling, as they are. Do I need to have you locked up, or will you appear on my command?”

“I will always appear on your command, sire.”

“Then find yourself a bed in the palace for the night.”

• • •

I had called a general assembly for ten o’clock. I spoke to Edmund before that. He had heard something of what had happened and I told him the rest. He shook his head, and his face was serious.

“If I may suggest . . . ?”

I gripped his arm at the elbow. “I always listen to you. You know that.”

“It does no good to say I warned you there would be trouble. You want to save his life, which they could demand even if Foster does not die. A dwarf in the barracks . . .”

“I made him a warrior.”

“Not in their eyes. He rode beside you in the battle. He had a sword and used it. That does not make him a warrior. But I think it will be enough if you now take his sword away. Send him back to Dwarftown and I think it will content them.”

“I cannot unmake what I have made.”

“Luke,” he said, “it defies custom!”

“As the burning of the wheatfields did. As did my father’s taking Petersfield and keeping it. There are customs that need to be broken.”

“But not this one. A Prince is nothing without his army.”

“A Prince rules his army. The army does not rule the Prince.”

“A show of strength is a good thing, but one can be too stubborn. Luke, send him back to Dwarftown.”

I smiled. “I listen to you, Edmund. But I take my own decisions.”

• • •

They paraded on the barrack square, each troop behind its Captain and its Sergeants. The men of Blaine’s troop who had tried to kill Hans had been brought from the cells and stood there also, but apart. The weather had turned cold in the night. An east wind raised dust from the ground and even lifted the stiff leather jackets of the Captains. They were at attention and silent. I said:

“There was brawling at the feast last night. Swords were drawn. One of your comrades is wounded.”

I paused. In the distance a dog barked, the sound small but very clear.

“I accept some blame for this,” I said. “There was one present who was born a dwarf. You will have heard that he served me well in the expedition to the north. You have seen that he fought at my side before Petersfield. But it might be said that saving a Prince’s life or fighting in one of his battles does not make a warrior.”

I let them wait again. I saw the faces of my Captains: approval in Edmund’s, the twisted beginning of a smile in Blaine’s. I said:

“Warriors must obey their Prince but he has a duty also: to make his will clear. This I shall now do.” I raised my voice: “Hans, son of Rudi!”

He came from the shadow of the gate where I had stationed him. He walked steadily forward. He was tall for a dwarf but he had a dwarfs rolling gait. There could be no mistaking what he was. He stood before me and saluted.

I said: “Do you wish to serve me and this city as a warrior?”

“Yes, sire.”

“Do you accept the duties and the dangers, and will you obey all the commands of your officers?”

“I will, sire.”

“Then be it known that by my command this man is a warrior. From this moment he is your comrade. Captain Greene!”

Greene took a step forward and saluted me.

“Sire!”

“Will you accept this man in your troop?”

His face showed nothing. He said:

“I accept him, sire.”

“As to the brawling . . . I accept some blame but punishment is required. We draw swords against the city’s enemies, not each other. Apart from Foster, all who took part will be confined to barracks for a week. You may dismiss the men, Captain.”

I waited until they had broken up. The six of Blaine’s troop and Hans were taken by the Sergeant of the guard for fatigue duties which were part of their punishment. I saw the anger in Sheppy’s face as Hans joined them, and his lips moved: in a curse, I guessed. There would be plenty of cursing and jeering during the week to come. But Hans was one of them now, and they would do him no harm. Their own lives would be forfeit if they did.

It would be hard on Hans; but he had chosen to be a warrior and a warrior must learn to bear hardships.

Edmund came up to me at last. He said:

“Well, you did it.” There was unwilling admiration in his voice. “But I still think you were unwise.”

“I know that.” I grinned. “It is a cold morning. Come to the gymnasium and we will wrestle a little warmth into ourselves.”

• • •

Winter closed in early, with a blizzard that blew for four days and left snow drifting six feet deep in the High Street. There was a thaw after that, but a few weeks later the snow returned and this time stayed.

Life was more confined but had its pleasures. For the boys there was skating on the river by the grazing meadows, the snowball fights that raged right across the city and did not always respect the dignity of older people, toboggan races on hard-packed frozen snow down the High Street. For the rest there were the entertainments of jugglers and minstrels, dancing and feasting and talk. Winchester was prosperous, her silos and granaries full, her farms stocked with fat cattle. We were well prepared for the hard months.

But there was work as well as pleasure. Rudi and his dwarfs labored in the Forge. With Greene I made a close inspection of swords and armor and rejected any that was worn or faulty. And I had the Captains keep their troops long hours at drill. I increased their rations of meat and ale to make up for this. There was some grumbling but they went at it willingly enough for the most part.

My life was full, with the army and the court. At times, though, I got away on my own. I walked one day on the walls, with no one near me. The sky was largely clear for once, sharp blue with white clouds and that darker one that always rested on the northern horizon, where the Burning Lands smoked and smoldered. I thought of the journey we had made through the pass that ran across them, and I thought of King Cymru of the Wilsh, and his daughter Blodwen.

I was not far from the North Gate. Snow had fallen in the night and only my footsteps had disturbed it here. I turned and saw a figure farther along the wall, coming my way. There were steps near and I thought of going down into the city to avoid him. Then I saw it was a black-cloaked Acolyte, and recognized Martin.

I greeted him as he came up, and said:

“What brings you here?”

“The same as you, sire, probably: an urge for solitude.”

I took his arm. “No ‘sire,’ Martin. We are still friends, I hope.”

He smiled, and his face lost the tense worried look that it often bore.

“I hope so, too, Luke!”

I had seen little of him since becoming Prince. As boys he and Edmund and I had been companions, but life had taken us along different paths. Edmund was a warrior and one of my Captains, so our ways lay much together. But Martin had become an Acolyte to the Seer. This would anyway have limited our companionship; my wariness of being associated with the Seer and the Seance House only made it more certain.

Now as of old we walked and talked together, and I realized how much I had missed him.

We looked over the snow-covered roofs of the city. In the distance I saw the Seance Hall, and the Ruins beyond it. The Ruins were the great mound of stone beneath which lay the small underground room in which we three had met as boys, to talk and plan in secret. I pointed to it, and said:

“Did you know the Christians seek our old playground?”

“For what?”

“Peter gave them gold for a new church when he used their secret tunnel to get back into the city and surprise the Romsey men who had captured it. They have not built it yet. They ask for that land to put it on. They say there was a great Christian church there in ancient days.”

“What did you say to them?”

“I told the priest I would think about it.”

“Will you say yes?”

“I think I will. The first debt was paid, but there was a death after that. Ann, my brother’s wife, was a Christian. It would please her Spirit. And the ground is of small value. No one else will build there, out of superstition.”

Martin shrugged. “They are mad, but they do not do much harm.”

“There is more to it than building. They are bringing their Bishop from Oxford.”

Each set of Christians has its priest as a leader, but there was only one Bishop in the civilized lands, who ruled them all. I said:

“It is a compliment, I suppose. They recognize the supremacy of our city. It is strange, though, that they should bring him to the seat of power and riches, when they claim to despise such things.”

“They would probably say power and riches are good when they are means to a good end: to guide men’s minds to what they think is truth.”

“You are generous,” I said. “It is a vastly different truth from the one you seek, after all. They have no interest in Science. What they call truth is a god who walked as a man, who died an ugly death, and raised himself from the dead afterward.”

His smile returned. “They will not win over any but madmen like themselves with such stories.”

“And polymufs,” I said, “whom they flatter by letting them join with them as equals.”

Martin nodded. “A shocking thing, that. As shocking as turning a dwarf into a warrior.”

He smiled again and I was glad to see it. I punched at him, as we had done when we were boys.

“That is by the Prince’s will,” I said. “Remember it, Acolyte!”

• • •

Winter ended at last and it was spring again. There was the Contest of the Young Captains, in which I had won the jeweled sword and started on the path which led to my becoming Prince. This year it was very one-sided. Isak, the youngest son of Harding, was the winner, gaining his victory without losing a man.

Spring turned to summer and I took the army out on its campaign. We rode south this time, down the valley of the Itchen. There was a score that needed settling with James of Romsey, whose father, Fat Jeremy, had treacherously killed mine.

I expected wiles rather than courage from him and was not disappointed. He brought his army out of the city on our approach but on the far side of the river which runs through it. From there he fenced with us, defying us to cross and ready to strike if we did so.

This continued for two days of warm cloudy weather. Then at the close of the second day the clouds rolled away. And that night, the air being calm and still, mist rose from the river and spread out over the fields in which we were encamped.

In the morning the mist remained, thick and white, blanketing and disguising everything. A brightness in the east marked the position of the sun, but there was no sign of it breaking through. The hours wore by slowly and we could do nothing else but hold our ground. Not until the afternoon did the objects round us start to take shape, as the brightness overhead focused into the silver and then golden disk of the sun. The mist lifted, and as it did the Romsey army launched itself on us.

James, though not much older than myself, was known for his cunning, and the attack had been well planned. He had taken advantage of being on familiar territory. He had brought his army quietly across the river by a ford north of our position, and then as quietly led them down to a point within striking distance. So he could attack with the lifting of the mist and take us by surprise.

This is what happened, and for a time our men were confused and fell back. But they had confidence in themselves from past campaigns and the winter’s drilling had toughened and instilled discipline in them. The Captains rallied them and they fought savagely.

It was a battle fought on foot. They had left their horses on the other side of the river and our own, of course, were still tethered. It did not last very long. James had used cunning in the preparation and no doubt would have done well chasing a beaten rabble, but he had little stomach for an enemy that took his charge and fought back. He ran, and his men, left leaderless, ran also. The mist was rising all this time. They ran north along the river bank and were in full view. We untethered our horses and mounted and rode them down. We had them at our mercy and they surrendered. They could do little else.

We took all except the few who had run first and escaped across the river. James had been one of these. When their Captains surrendered a gray-haired man spoke for them. He said:

“This ransom will not be easy to pay. Will you give us time, sire?”

I said: “There will be no ransom.”

My own army and my Captains stood behind me. The Romsey Captain said:

“No ransom?”

I said: “My father took Petersfield, and I take Romsey. You belong to our realm of Winchester. Serve it faithfully and you will come to no harm.”

There was silence before the Romsey Captain spoke.

“Maybe the men of Petersfield did not set a high value on their ancient liberties. We do. Prince, you cannot ask this. We have lost the battle and will pay you ransom. But we will not serve you, nor your realm.”

The silence came back. So short a time before there had been the clang of metal, cursings, men shouting and dying. The last shreds of mist steamed off the river. My men listened as closely as theirs. I said:

“You speak like an honest man. You could have given me soft words and defied me later. And I would have been forced to come again to your city, this time in anger. But since you defy us now you will return to your city weaponless. And we will keep a garrison there as long as it is needed.”

He stared at me. “You are not in the city yet.”

“No.” I nodded. “But will the gates be kept shut against us, with so fine a crop of hostages?”

He bowed his head, in acceptance. It was all silence, and their defeat spoke louder than our victory. I said to Greene: “See to it,” and rode away.

• • •

We left our garrison in Romsey and rode back along the Itchen valley. Citizens crowded out from the South Gate, cheering and welcoming us back. They shouted my name: “Luke!” I heard them cry: “Prince of Three Cities!”

I rode at the head of my army into Winchester. The crowd was even thicker inside, and noisier. Then it seemed to melt and grow quiet. I saw horsemen with foreign but familiar trappings. And someone else.

She sat white-robed on a white horse. Her beauty seemed to make the air grow still. She bowed her fair head, her blue eyes smiling.

She said: “I grew tired of waiting, Luke. So I came to see this city which you promised me.”