The King's Name

  Masarn arrived back late in the evening. Marchel appeared to have vanished. The only sign he had seen of her was a handful of foundered horses.

  She must have known of a track we didn’t know, or of somewhere nearby to hide out of sight. She had spent two years as praefecto down in Magor, and longer in Caer Gloran; she had had time to get to know the land well. I had to send Masarn and his people out to the stockade for the night. There really wasn’t enough room for another four pennons inside the walls of Magor—it would have been a squeeze to make room for another four armigers at that point. Marchel’s two alae must have been very cramped. I didn’t want either people or horses to spend the night outside with Marchel loose. I couldn’t find the optimism Masarn had to hope the land had eaten them. Masarn was quite prepared to take the risk of being outside; he was far more horrified at the thought of sleeping near the horse-eaters. Word had spread, and he had heard the rumor as soon as he was in the gates. I mollified him with the promise that if he caught the Isarnagans so much as cutting a hair from a greathorse, living or dead, he had permission to kill them on the spot.

  I slept in my tent and woke late. I hadn’t missed anything but breakfast. Urdo was still settling the affairs of Magor and wasn’t anything like ready to leave. I hadn’t even really missed breakfast; Talog had saved me some cold porridge. I went to the stables to see to my horses, and found Darien and ap Caw there.

  Ap Caw was leaning on the wall next to Barley’s stall, chewing on a piece of straw. Darien was fussing over a longmaned Narlahenan horse. They both looked up as I came in. “Look at my new riding horse,” Darien said. I came up and gave it a closer look. It was a gray gelding, probably nine or ten years old by the teeth.

  “I thought Urdo was giving them to the Isarnagans?” I said, making friends with him. He was a very good-tempered horse, quite happy to become acquainted.

  “Lots of them,” ap Caw said, spitting out the straw. “Waste of good horses if they eat them, but no arguing with Urdo when he’s using that voice. He swears their eating days are over after last night, but I’ll wait and see what they do. I was up before dawn sorting the horses for him, choosing the youngest and making sure they all had sound wind, not that the Isarnagans will be able to tell more than that they have a leg at each corner. Two each for all the household warriors, four for their captain, six for the queen, and a dozen to go back to the king. Every one of them in breeding condition, mostly mares but a fair sprinkling of stallions, too. Urdo says he wants to set them up a herd at Dun Morr.”

  “I’m sure he’s right that they won’t eat horses anymore,” Darien said. “I hope so anyway. They’re not greathorses, but they’re very fast and they fought very well, I thought.” I looked over at him, and realized that he had grown again and I had to look up to talk to him. At his full height he overtopped me by three or four fingers. He was taller than my brother Darien had ever been. He was older than my brother Darien had ever been, too. I was only just taking in that he was an armiger and not a child, old enough to fight in the first rank and give other people orders, and now I had to cope with the fact that he was taller than I was. We smiled at each other, a little uncertainly.

  “They fought very well indeed,” I said, looking back to the gray horse. “And the rest are being shared out in the ala?”

  “In both alae,” ap Caw said. “Yours as well. Every armiger should have two good riding horses now, and not have to ride their greathorse unless we’re expecting battle unexpectedly, if you catch my meaning.”

  Darien and I both laughed. “I catch it precisely,” I said, “I have fought a number of such unexpected battles.”

  “I’ve seen you fight,” ap Caw said, shaking his head. “Both of you, come to that, exactly the same look on your faces, fighting as if you were off in a lovely dream and all the broken heads and smashed bones only happen to someone else. I’ve looked after too many hurt horses to believe that sort of thing myself.”

  “I’ve looked after hurt horses, too,” said Darien, and there was pain in his voice. “You remember how awful it was when Pole Star broke his leg, and that wasn’t even in battle. He is well now,” he assured me hastily. “This was two years ago. He stepped wrong and fell in training; it was my fault, not his at all, I was confusing him. We splinted it and ap Caw and I sat beside him singing hymns, but it was ap Gavan who saved him—she knew a charm to St. Riganna, Holy Mother of Horses, which could keep him still long enough for it to heal.”

  I was just taking a drink from my water bottle as he said this, and I choked. They were both looking at me with concern when I had my breath back. St. Riganna indeed. I didn’t say anything. If I hadn’t wanted Darien brought up to believe in the White God I shouldn’t have left him at Thansethan, and better that he should learn Garah’s Horsemother charms than not. “I am glad he is better,” I said. “Many horses with broken legs can never heal at all. And ap Caw, you will not find that anyone is less careful with their horse than with their own body in battle.”

  “That’s as may be,” ap Caw said dubiously. “Well, these Narlahenans are a blessing for us all. There were a fair few packhorses into the bargain. Now that’s what I call useful, and I told Celemon so. She just shrugged and said they would be tomorrow when there was something to pack onto them.”

  Darien turned to me. “When are we leaving for Derwen?”

  “When Urdo is ready,” I said. “Later this morning I think, then we should be there before it is quite dark. I have sent messages already so they will be expecting us.”

  Both groups of Isarnagans set off before we did. Emer went first, leading her five hundred north up the high road. It seemed to include most of the people who had been given horses. Ap Ranien’s group made a start on their way back to Derwen and then Dun Morr.

  We left two pennons to hold Magor and Aberhavren. Urdo did not name a regent for the land; there was nobody of sufficient standing and sufficient trustworthiness. Whoever he had named the kings who hated us could have used to claim he was taking the land to himself. So he named none. Instead he made Bradwen, decurio of the Second Pennon of Galba’s Ala, key-keeper of the fort of Magor—although in truth Magor and Derwen were never forts or Vincan cities, only the homes of lords and their people with new walls built around them. Then he named Golidan war-leader of Magor. They would report to Urdo only, until Galbian grew old enough to rule for himself.

  Bradwen came up to take oath first. She knelt to Galbian and swore to be key-keeper in his name. She had a scrape on one cheek from the battle the day before and, combined with her frown, it made her look like a ferocious warrior rather than a steward. She had complained to me that she did not want to be left behind to count turnips, even though she had been trained in quartermaster work by Nodol. She wanted to come with the ala and lead her pennon to battle. Golidan assured her that he would let her take turns leading patrols, and I assured her it was her duty. I was not close by at the oath taking—many of the people of Magor and those of the local farmers who had not fled had come in to see it. I could still see her face clearly. Golidan took oath afterward, looking very solemn. I was sorry to leave them behind; they were both reliable decurios whose initiative I could trust. I wished I could have left Cynrig Fairbeard in place of Golidan. It would have made Bradwen happier to have someone there she wanted to share blankets with and he would have done just as well. But it would not have gone well with the local people to have a Jarn as war-leader, and it would have made Cinon faint if he had heard of it.

  They stood outside the gates with their two pennons drawn up in full parade order until we were out of sight.

  It was a weary ride back. I felt as if I had been riding to and fro over this ground too many times recently. We left Magor in the late morning and came to Derwen late in the long summer dusk.

  The messengers had served their purpose, and the scouts had let them know exactly when we would be arriving. The first person I saw as we came through the gates was Emlin, a wax tablet and stylus poking out of th
e top of his tunic. Nodol Boar-beard was beside him, holding a lantern.

  “You two look cheerful and organized!” I called down to them. Emlin grinned. I could see the lines in his face even through the grin.

  “Most of the horses will have to go outside,” Nodol said. “But there should be room and food inside for all the people who have come from Magor.”

  “The horses ought to be safe,” Emlin added. “We have my whole pennon on sentry-ring, and half the militia camping out as distance defense. I suppose you saw some of them, coming in?”

  “I did indeed, and Lew out there with them,” I said. We had stopped to greet him, and Urdo had presented him with his twelve dapple-gray horses, which had pleased him greatly. “Well done. Do you know what you’re doing with the two alae then?”

  “We know where to put them for tonight, anyway,” Nodol said.

  “And are you ready for tomorrow?” I asked.

  “As ready as anyone could be,” Nodol said, shaking his head. “Let’s leave tomorrow until tomorrow, and get on with the quartering.”

  “Yes, you can leave that to us,” Emlin said. “Welcome home, Sulien.”

  There was a noisy moment then as the alae split into pennons, each going where Emlin told them. Their decurios went with them.

  I left them to it and dismounted to go to the hall. I waited a moment for Urdo and Raul. Raul had Father Cinwil with him. Urdo signaled to Darien. Darien brought up Aurien’s boys, and with them Amala and a sullen young Malm who I guessed immediately must be Gomoarionsson.

  Veniva was waiting for us outside, alone by the top of the steps. Some of the people of the house were standing watching from just inside. The yard was full of armigers clattering about.

  I went forward first and she embraced me. “Welcome home, Lord,” she said. Suddenly I remembered the first time she had said those words to me, when we had come back from Thansethan with Morien’s body. Urdo had been here then, too; and now, as then, I could feel his eyes on me, giving me the strength to accept my responsibilities.

  Veniva moved onto embrace and welcome Galbian and Gwien. Then, without hesitation, she embraced Darien and greeted him as kin. She had done it each time he visited, but I saw his face light up when she did it now. Even now, he was not used to feeling he belonged.

  I expected her to call one of the waiting servants for a cup to welcome Urdo and the others. I felt a pang of guilt for breaking her special Vincan cup, even though I had had no choice about it. But instead she moved forward to where Urdo stood and embraced him, as she had done with the rest of us.

  If it had been true that he were Darien’s acknowledged father, she would have been perfectly entitled to do so. As it was I wished the ground would open and swallow me. I felt the hot blood burning in my cheeks. Urdo started for an instant, then hugged her back. Such an embrace at departure would have been nothing unusual among friends, but as a welcome it went clean against custom. I wondered whether I should say anything, do anything. Then my eyes met Darien’s over their heads. He still looked pleased, and I realized that anything I said would threaten that. I smiled back at him and did nothing. Urdo was kin by any measure but that of blood.

  Then Veniva signaled and a servant limped out with a cup. It was Seriol ap Owain, whose left foot had been crushed between two horses at Foreth. I had found him a place serving my mother after he was no longer fit to ride as an armiger. I had never seen the cup he carried before. It was silver and double-handled, like Elenn’s welcome cup at Caer Tanaga. There was gold inlaid on it, forming letters, but I was not near enough to read them. I could not think where she had got the gold. I looked at Veniva and raised my eyebrows. She smiled, and I guessed from the smile that all the jewelers in Derwen had been working day and night to have the cup ready for my return. Veniva took the cup from Seriol and offered the welcome of the house to Amala and Gomoarionsson, and then to Raul and last to Father Cinwil. They all accepted the peace of the hall. As Seriol led the way inside I took the cup from Veniva and looked at it. It read “Maneo,” and on the other side, in Tanagan, “I shall remain.” I stopped dead and looked at my mother. She was wearing her best embroidered overdress, but the golden comb was not in her hair.

  “Nobody insults the welcome of my house,” Veniva said quietly.

  “Of course not,” I said, turning the cup in my hands, and touching the letters. It was beautifully made. “But in Tanagan? From you?”

  She smiled again. “That is exactly what Glividen said when I asked him to put that.”

  I blinked. She had made Urdo’s architect design her a cup? He hadn’t even been here when I left. “And what did you say to Glividen?”

  “I said, if I am the last of the Vincans then my welcome cup would have the gold Gwien’s ancestors buried, and our strong words would be set in Tanagan too.” She smiled, and took back the cup from my unresisting hand. “Now let us go and attend to our guests.”

  I followed her inside in silence.

  The lamps were all lit. The hall was swept so clean there was scarcely a cobweb to be seen, even up in the high corners. A servant was taking around Narlahenan wine on a tray. Veniva was clearly making an effort to impress Urdo and Amala.

  Glividen was sitting in the hall and came up to greet us. He had come by ship from Caer Thanbard. It would have been foolish to ask him for messages in front of Amala and Gomoarionsson, however much they were being treated as honored guests. Amala asked him if he had seen Thurrig and he bowed and informed her courteously that Thurrig was in Caer Thanbard and very well, indeed prodigiously well for a man his age, still fit enough to command the fleet or even fight in the fine of battle if required. I had never really thought about how old Thurrig was. He had always been there, always older and wiser but always a strong fighter. He, too, must be almost seventy; he had been an admiral for more than forty years.

  As I was thinking this his grandsons came out. Amala embraced them, then led them up to be introduced to me. I wished she had used names rather than just calling them her grandsons. It made it awkward to know how to address them. I didn’t know their father’s name. If I had ever been told ap Wyn the Smith’s own name I had forgotten it. They had been small boys when I had seen them in Caer Gloran, now they were young men, older than Darien. They both had the same broad shoulders and blacksmith’s build as their father, who was there behind them, bowing to me. The older one’s face was like Thurrig or Larig, and the younger like Marchel and Amala. The older one had a wife with him. She was delicately pretty and seemed very shy; she did not want to let go of the support of her husband’s arm. She was six or seven months pregnant. She seemed very cautious of Amala. They all four kept repeating how much they appreciated my hospitality and how good I was being to them. I did not like to think that I had even considered for a moment that I was taking them hostage.

  Just then the music began. I was hungry and would rather have eaten directly. I danced with Urdo, and for a moment almost forgot I was tired. In the lamplight it felt almost like old times in the ala at Caer Tanaga, when we would dance on a winter evening. Then I danced a very fast dance with Darien, at the end of which I was a little out of breath. After that Glividen came up to me. He led me a little nearer the musicians to make sure the music covered the sound of him speaking quietly. He didn’t make any attempt to dance. He looked at me to be sure he had my attention and spoke quietly. “Why did you send for me?”

  I blinked at him, surprised. “I didn’t send for you,” I said. “I was going to ask you what had brought you here unexpectedly.”

  He hesitated and stroked his beard, clearly perplexed. “I thought at first it was some urgent need for the aqueduct. Then, when your mother told me about the invasion and that she had no idea what you were planning, I thought I had best wait in case you needed some military engineering done. I waited here because if you had wanted me at Magor you would have said Magor, I thought.”

  “I didn’t say anything,” I said. Behind his shoulder Marchel’s older son was swingi
ng his wife carefully. “Who told you I wanted you? Thurrig? Custennin?”

  “No.” He frowned. “I was doing some work for Thurrig, designing a new dock. Urdo knows all about it. But it wasn’t Custennin but his sister ap Cledwin, Bishop Dewin’s lady, who sent for me and told me you needed me urgently.”

  “Linwen of Munew? Why in the world?” I said. If it had been Dewin it would have clearly been the Church’s plot. But Linwen could mean either that or Custennin and Munew.

  “There was a ship just arrived that was coming here,” Glividen said, shaking his head. “It seemed very plausible that you needed me. I can’t think why she would say that if you didn’t.”

  “Maybe she just wanted you out of Caer Thanbard,” I said. This seemed the most likely explanation. Glividen, what time he paid attention to what was going on and wasn’t swept away in his ideas about making something, was known to be loyal to Urdo. “Whose side is she on? Had you seen her recently? Or Custennin? Could they have been planning an uprising?”

  He frowned again, looking very unhappy. “I never thought of any such thing. I don’t know. It isn’t impossible. I had feasted with them when I first came there, naturally. But I was staying with Thurrig; I didn’t see them often.”

  “And how did Thurrig seem?”

  “As he always is, less full of life than when he was younger, but full of concerns for my new dock and for an idea he had for changing the curve of the bows of a ship. It wouldn’t work, unfortunately, the thing would swamp. We built a model.” He stared past me at the musicians, not seeing the harp and the drum but some boat in his mind. “I have been thinking about it since though, on the boat here. There might be a way of doing it if the keel were deeper.” He gestured proportions with his hands.

  “It would sink,” I said doubtfully, distracted by his enthusiasm despite myself.