The Sword of the Spirits

FIVE

THE COUNCIL OF CAPTAINS

I SENT WORD VERY EARLY to Edmund that I wished him to ride with me. It was still dark when we clattered down the High Street, drawing curses from an upper room where the noise of our passing roused some good citizen from sleep, across the river and along the road to East Gate.

He asked me when we met what reason there was for our journey, at such an hour. I told him he would know in good time. It had crossed my mind that Blodwen might have sent word to him herself, telling him of what had passed between us, and I searched his face for sign of this. But the bewilderment there was real; he truly did not know why I had come for him. He shrugged his shoulders and, accepting his Prince’s command as a Captain must, mounted and rode with me.

The guard saluted us as we left the city. I set no frenzied pace as I had done on that recent solitary ride. Then my adversaries had been phantasms of the mind. Now there was only one, who had a face and rode at my side. The sky ahead was paling with the dawn. I looked behind me at the gate and remembered my father’s head, stuck on a spear above it. I had thought life could bring no greater anguish than that. It seemed a small thing now.

We traveled in silence. Edmund was not unused to this. I had had my times of silence before, when my mind was busy with some project and I saw no need of speech, and he had accustomed himself to them. The city slept behind us. There was only the sound of hoofs and harness and our horses’ breaths snorting in the chilly air.

We reached the Elder Pond, black and rimmed with ice, and I took the fork that led to the Contest Field. I reined my horse in when we reached it. It lay bare and empty, with the dark mass of Catherine’s Hill behind it. On the hill’s top its grove of trees stood like mourners against the ashen sky. I thought of this place as I had seen it once, with the sun shining after rain on a spring day, and the whole city, it seemed, cheering the Young Captains as they led their teams in for the Contest.

There had been something to win then, too, and against great odds. I remembered my young self. Had I fought so hard for no more than a jeweled sword?

Edmund kept the silence. I said at last:

“Do you recall the time we fought here?”

“Of course.”

“And how I beat you.”

He smiled. “That, too.”

“You said once, when we watched another Contest together, that on a second chance you would have won.”

“Did I, Luke?” He shook his head. “I do not remember that.”

“Do you still think so?”

“That I would have beaten you? No. I knew that after you had killed the Bayemot. I have some courage but when the odds are hopeless I draw back. You would always beat me; not so much because you are a better fighter as because you will not accept defeat.”

I paused before I said: “At least some good came of it.”

“Yes. You rule three cities, and will rule more.”

I said: “Our friendship.”

“Yes. A better thing still.”

“It has meant much to me. I have Captains who serve me well, a dwarf warrior who would die for me, but those things are not friendship. There were three of us: you, Martin and I. Martin turned Acolyte and now has left us altogether, to go to Sanctuary. Only you and I remain.”

There was a faraway honking and high up small dots trailed across the gray. Wild geese, on their journey to lands we would never know. I said:

“Let us talk of Blodwen, Edmund.”

Our eyes met. He said slowly: “What of her?”

“I think you know.”

He did not deny that, but said: “There has been nothing between us.”

“Nothing?” I spoke bitterly. “No looks, no touches of hands?”

“No more than that.”

“Listen,” I said, “she is mine. Cymru gave her to me at the banquet at which we both sat, after the killing of the Bayemot. Is this not true?”

“Yes,” Edmund said. “But she is a girl, not something to be given.”

In the mind’s eye I saw Blodwen again, as she stood with me on the staircase above her father’s throne room, and heard her voice: “I am not an honor—I am Blodwen! I will be my own woman. Remember that, Luke of Winchester.” I said:

“Is it the office of a friend to come between a man and his betrothed bride, even with a single look?”

Then he looked ashamed. He said in a low voice:

“It was not meant. I promise you.”

“You could not help it?”

“No.”

“Perhaps you could not. I do not think I blame you. But you are a free man. You can make an end of it now.”

He did not speak. I said:

“I claim this for our friendship’s sake.”

The wind blew cold down Catherine’s Hill and our horses stamped their feet. Edmund spoke at last.

“I will end it.”

I reached across and clasped his arm. “I will not forget this! And now, I have a mission for you.”

He looked startled. “A mission?”

“To Oxford. To talk in public with its Prince; in private with its Prince in Waiting. I look for two alliances, one open, the other secret.”

Edmund said: “How long will the mission last?”

“I will expect you back in the spring. We will watch the Contest of the Young Captains together.”

“And when would you have me go?”

“Today.”

“Be open with me,” he said. “It is because of Blodwen that I am to be sent away? Such a mission would be best in older hands than mine.”

“You have been too free with her. This you admit. You said you could not help it and I believe you. All things wither without nourishment. It is better that you do not see her for a time.”

I twitched my horse’s rein, turning her head back toward the city. Edmund said: “Hold, Luke.”

“Well?”

“Have you spoken to Blodwen of this?”

It might have been better to lie, but I could not.

“Yes.”

“What did you say to her?”

“I asked her if she had betrayed me with you. She swore she had not. I knew she spoke truth.”

“And what else?”

I echoed him: “What else?”

His voice had changed. There was boldness in it.

“You put a question to her and got your answer. But still you need to send me away to Oxford. Is it only my weakness you fear? What reassurance did you seek from Blodwen, and not find?”

I said: “What passes between Blodwen and me is our concern, not yours.”

“You are wrong, Luke! I will not go on your mission until I have put a question to her. And if her answer is what I think it may be, then you must find another man for Oxford.”

I felt cold again: a cold sharper and more inward than that which the wind scoured from the ugly sky.

“You will not try to take her from me.”

“Not unless she puts out a hand to me. But if she does, nothing will stop me taking it.”

“Not friendship?”

“Not anything!”

He spoke exultantly. I said:

“And if I beg you?”

All my body trembled. I felt tears start in my eyes, and blinked them back.

He said: “Do not beg for something which I cannot give.”

“Cannot, or will not?”

“What difference is there? There are strengths beyond our own.”

I said, wonderingly, to myself almost: “I never doubted your loyalty. I would have doubted my own sooner. I know my weaknesses and I gave you best in friendship. But I could not do such injury to a friend. I would die first.”

The day was lighter, and I saw him flush. He said:

“You are my friend, but Blodwen I love. There is a difference in our natures. I do not think you have ever truly loved. Or ever could.”

“I loved you,” I said, “who were my friend.”

He shook his head. “Talking does no good.”

“Listen,” I said. “Forget friendship, if it means so little to you. Have you thought of the harm that can come from this? Not just to us, but to the city.”

“You have got your city,” he said. “Keep it. We do not want it.”

He linked her desires with his, as though of right. Pain raked its claws through me. I said:

“Even if I would, I could not let you have her. I am Prince of the city and she, daughter of the King of the Wilsh, is to be my bride. If it is not held to I am no Prince, and chaos follows.”

“Then let it follow. You cannot stop us, Luke.”

“I am Prince,” I said. “I have some powers.”

We rode together back to the city and in silence. The guard saluted us again at the East Gate, and I bade him bring the Sergeant. He was out of the guardhouse on the instant. His name was Tunney, one of Harding’s men, old for a warrior but still powerful. I pointed to Edmund.

“Arrest him.”

• • •

Blodwen said: “Luke, what have you done?”

Her face was white and she showed signs of haste. She had come unannounced to where I sat in my parlor. It was early still. Outside the window a few small flakes of snow drifted slowly down.

I said: “In what way, lady?”

“They say that Edmund is under guard. Because of what I said last night? I promise you . . .”

I thought she might lie, to save him, and did not want to hear it. I cut across her words.

“I gave an order to a Captain and he refused to obey it. That is all and that is enough.”

“What order?”

I told her of the mission to Oxford. Her eyes were on my face as I spoke, and I watched her watching me. At the end she said only:

“What will you do to him?”

“A Prince must have obedience from his Captains, in peace as much as in war. You know this. Disobedience imperils the city and merits death. But I will do him no harm. I will only banish him.”

“You cannot do it, Luke.”

“I must,” I said, “or see a man walking the streets of Winchester who has defied my authority. Would you rather I kept him in perpetual imprisonment? Even that would be too great a risk to take.”

“The order should not have been given,” she said. “It was not done for the city but for your private ends.”

I shook my head. “There is no difference.”

“You believe that?”

“A Prince must, or he is no Prince.”

I put strength into my voice to answer her, but at heart I felt weary, and a dull sickness racked me.

Blodwen said: “What am I in this? A thing? A creature to do her master’s bidding, and get a smile from him and perhaps a bauble or two in reward? Are we all things to the Prince of Winchester?”

“I do what has to be done.”

“And must we dance to the tune you think you hear? Last night you asked me to swear I did not love Edmund, and I would not do it. Because of that you ordered him on this mission. Did you trust me so little?”

I made no answer. She said:

“We are not puppets, though you would have us so. I do not know what would have happened if you had left well alone. It is no news to me that Edmund loves me, and no surprise that he will defy his Prince for my sake. But I have known his mind better than I knew my own. I would not swear it, not because it was untrue but because I did not know if it were true or not. My father proclaimed our betrothal and I would not willingly thwart his wishes. But I tell you this, Luke: if Edmund is banished then I will go with him and share his exile.”

Her words lashed me, with fear as well as pain. In combat I had never known such terror. I looked at her face, unsmiling, lacking any gentleness. I wanted to admit defeat and in doing so beg mercy. I might have still won her if I had. Compassion might not show in her face but it was in her heart always. In defeat I might have conquered.

But I could not trap her with her own pity. I said:

“You may not do it, lady. I am still Prince here, and forbid it.”

She smiled then, but with no softening.

“I am not your subject, Luke of Winchester.”

“You are in my city.”

“My father is Cymru, King of the Wilsh. If I do his bidding it is with consent. No other ruler can bind me.”

I felt the fear again, the weakness that was a worse pain than pain. By fighting I must lose everything in the world worth having, and gain nothing. But I could not go back. We faced each other across the narrow room. Behind Blodwen hung the picture of my mother. There, too, was beauty; a beauty which I had worshiped but which had given me small comfort.

I raised my voice: “Guard!”

He clomped in from his post in the Hall of Mirrors. Blodwen still stared at me. I said to the guard:

“The Lady Blodwen is under arrest.”

He said impassively: “Yes, sire.”

Blodwen said: “Will you throw me in your dungeon?”

Her voice was angry and incredulous. I said:

“Conduct her to her apartments. See that she is well guarded there.”

• • •

Grimm, the Seer, came to me in mid-morning. He looked as large and easy of mind as ever, but he said:

“Things are in a sorry mess, Luke.”

I said: “I have known them better.”

“All was going so well.” He shook his head. “We must not have an injury to our plans at this stage.”

He meant the plans of the High Seers: the plans to restore Science and machines, to transform men’s lives. Children’s voices called outside as they played some game. The hopes and schemes of the Seers mattered as little to me.

“What do you plan to do with them?” Grimm asked. I did not answer. “Will you hear my advice?”

I said, listening to my own voice’s echo and amazed by its seeming calm:

“I will always hear your advice, Grimm.”

“Send her back at once to her father’s court.”

“She will not go without Edmund.”

“Then send him with her. Klan Gothlen is far enough away. It is no threat to us.”

“And he will have her.”

The calmness must have wavered. Grimm stretched his bulky body in the chair. He said:

“Before I became an Acolyte there was a girl from whom I got much misery. Some of our order find it hard to be deprived of women in their lives. I have been glad of it. There are other pleasures.”

His belly proved his point. I said:

“I am glad, for your sake.”

“Her name was Lucy,” Grimm said. “The hurt at that time was great: I thought I would have died of it. But I did not, as you see. And though I remember her name I cannot recall her face. All things pass.”

He waited but I said nothing. He said:

“Be careful, Luke. Do nothing rash. Much hangs on you.”

• • •

I had another visitor: the Christian Bishop. When his name was brought to me, as one requesting audience, I thought of saying no. But any company was better than the company of my thoughts. So I let him in, and looked at him indifferently.

“What do you want?” I asked. “More of my bounty? Have you not had gold and land enough?”

He said: “Men gather in the streets. Only a few so far but the numbers may grow. They cry a name, Prince, but it is not yours. They cry ‘Blodwen.’ She is well loved by your people.”

I laughed. “I have had the Seer telling me what to do but I did not think the Christians would send their Bishop! I did not know you took such interest in the affairs of state.”

“Nor do we. I do not speak of politics but of people. One person in particular. She is a good woman.”

I stared at him, half angry, half amused.

“That is true, Bishop.”

“And honest.”

“True also.”

“She has done you no wrong.” I said nothing to that. “And if you wrong her you will wrong yourself far more.”

“I am a Prince,” I said. “Remember it.”

He shrugged his heavy shoulders and his bald head bobbed.

“That is what they call you. But you are a man first, and she a woman.”

“What do you know of men and women? Are you not celibate, to please your god?”

“I know this,” he said. “I know that what moves you is not love but pride.”

“Of course,” I said, “your god called pride a sin. And you cannot be expected to know better. You are not a warrior.”

“Whether it be sin or not,” he said, “your pride could yet destroy you. Not all your warriors nor your own right arm will save you then.”

“You weary me, Bishop,” I said. “Go back and pray to your god who had no pride.”

• • •

Lastly Jenny came. She had been weeping and her eyes were red still. I said:

“Lady, what service would you do me now?”

“Only to right a wrong.”

“No wrong. You called me blind and that was true. My eyes are opened and I thank you.”

“There was no truth in it! Edmund did not betray you. I lied in anger.” She looked at me, her face a mask of shame. “And in jealousy. I could not bear the way you looked at her. Forgive me, Luke. And do not hold my lies against Edmund.” She drew sobbing breath. “Nor against her.”

If I had pity to spare I would have pitied her. All that she said was true, and made no difference. I said wearily:

“They love each other. What comes of this must come. There is no profit in regrets.”

She turned from me, weeping again, and went away.

I heard the tumult and ran out, my sword bare. The noise came from the north wing, where Blodwen’s apartments were. When I got there I found frightened polymufs, splintered doors, one guard dying and one dead. The dying man could not speak and the polymufs were too incoherent to make much sense. There had been fighting, they said, which was plain enough. It was plain also that they had seen nothing because they had hidden out of the way.

But the door to Blodwen’s room was smashed, and she was gone.

I was still standing there five minutes later, staring at the broken door, when Greene rode down Sack Street with a dozen of his troop. He dismounted. There was blood on his sleeve but he did not seem badly hurt. I roused myself and said:

“Who took her?”

“Charles.”

“Charles? How? By himself?”

Because he was Edmund’s brother I had that morning, as a precaution, split his troop among other Captains.

Greene said: “He picked up half a dozen of his men. They surprised the guard here. We gave chase but . . .”

“You lost them? It makes no difference. Half a dozen men? He must be mad. And what good does it do to take her? Does he think to use her as a bargain for Edmund’s release?”

“He has released Edmund already.” I stared at him. “They have the citadel. That was what turned us back.”

“Then Blaine . . .” Blaine’s men had taken over the citadel guard that morning. “Blaine is with him in this.”

Greene nodded. “It seems so.”

“So it is rebellion. And Blaine thinks that with his troop and what he can bring together of Charles’s, he can take this city?”

“There is more. He has given the Wilsh their swords back. I saw them on the citadel wall.”

Disarming Blodwen’s Wilsh bodyguard had been another precaution. It was hard to believe that even Blaine could do such a thing as to arm foreign soldiers within the city. But I had no time to waste on incredulity. The revolt was a major one and must be put down. I said to Greene:

“He will be looking for others who may go over to him if they think he is strong enough to win. We need to establish our own strength fast. We must rally those Captains on whom we can rely and get them together, Wilson and Ripon, Nicoll, Barnes, Becket, Stuart.”

Greene nodded.

I said: “You go for Nicoll and Barnes. I will get the others. We assemble here, in the palace yard.”

• • •

By dusk the lines were drawn. I had failed with Stuart, who had taken his men over to Blaine, and Turner’s troop was also in the citadel; but I had expected that. Grant, about whom I had been unsure, on the other hand had stayed loyal. We held the palace and the city in general, they the citadel.

Much hinged on what Harding might do. His troop was perhaps the strongest of all. If they joined us we must win easily: the citadel offered a strong defense but it had never been meant to be impregnable. The city’s walls and its warriors had always been our chief safeguard. If he went over to Blaine I was still confident of the outcome, though the fighting would be harder and bloodier.

Harding was no fool; he knew this also. And though he had been no friend of my father or my brother, and was no friend of mine, the hatred between his family and Blaine’s went back much further. Nor could I see him joining a rebel who had put arms into the hands of barbarians. He might be treacherous but he loved the city.

The fact that he had not committed himself so far, but kept his troop at that great house of his which was not much smaller than the palace, meant only, I guessed, that he relished the importance of his position. All must see that we waited for him. But he would not put things off too long in case, from impatience, I attacked without him. We could win without his help and that would make him as little as the other made him great.

He came in fact at the hour I expected, and was shown into the hall where I sat with the loyal Captains. He greeted me as a Captain should greet his Prince, the bow brief but unstinted. I said:

“Welcome, Captain! We are glad to have you at our conference. Your counsel will serve us well.”

He said: “This is a bad business, sire.”

“It is. But can soon be ended.”

“Soon maybe, but bitterly. The hatred will not die when the heads of five Captains of Winchester are spiked above the palace gate. The feuds which start today will last for generations.”

I said: “This may be so. But we did not start them. What would you have me do?”

“It is said that you were to pronounce banishment on Edmund.”

“He refused a command I gave him. Do I not have the right?”

Harding nodded. “You have it. And banishment is better than bloodshed. It might serve better for others, also.”

“I am willing to give them exile instead of death. You can take that message to them, if you wish.”

“There is a better way. If such a message is sent all must accept or all refuse. They will refuse it therefore. But if we call them to a Captains’ conclave, under flag of truce, there is a chance to win them over one by one.”

He spoke persuasively, and I saw one or two of our company nod their heads. They were loyal but none was eager for the slaughter of old comrades, in many cases kinfolk. I was not eager for it myself. If it could be settled without bloodshed so much the better. And even if Charles and Edmund and Blaine proved obdurate, Turner and Stuart might not.

I said: “Will they come to such a conclave at the palace, do you think? I will not go to them.”

Harding said: “There is my house. It lies between.”

• • •

We sat in the great hall of Harding’s house, at his council table. It was more magnificent than anything I had in the palace: very long, oval in shape, made of oak that generations of polymuf servants had polished to a dark bloom.

I was at the head, with Greene on my right and the other loyal Captains near. Blaine and his rebels, including Edmund, took the other end of the table. Harding sat in the space between.

We had our swords but were bound in honor not to use them. I did not fear treachery. In any case we outnumbered them and had men within call.

I spoke first and briefly. They were in rebellion against their Prince. It was an act which by law and ancient custom deserved death. This must follow once we had crushed them, and our power to do so was plain.

I offered them their lives, not from weakness but from desire to avoid the spilling of blood. If they surrendered, their men would suffer no penalty. They themselves could take with them into exile whatever movable goods they wished.

Blaine answered me. In Winchester men accepted the rule of Princes but not of tyrants. A Prince might command anything of his Captains but only while his commands served the general welfare. It had not been so in this case. A form of exile had been trumped up against one who had done no wrong, and when it had rightly been rejected banishment had been pronounced. This was tyranny, and it was the duty of citizens to oppose it.

He spoke with his usual bluster. We were all accustomed to it and I did not think anyone was much impressed. In the light of the oil lamps that hung from the ceiling I thought I saw unease in the small eyes, deep set in the fat face.

They would make an offer, he said, in answer to mine. They did not seek bloodshed, either, but peace. If I rescinded the edict of banishment on Edmund and the order of arrest on the lady Blodwen, and restored Charles’s troop to him, and promised full amnesty to all, they would come out of the citadel and return to their homes.

It was absurd, of course. After such a confrontation as this there could be no trust. There would be two armies prowling the city, armed and ready to fight at the first provocation. Nor would it be long in coming. And having given way, what authority could I command then? I gave him a blunt refusal, without argument or explanation.

Other Captains spoke. They spoke in accordance with their places at the table, and their temperaments. Some blew hotter and some colder, but the deadlock did not break. Then, when all had had their say, Harding rose to his feet.

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.