“Why?” Garah asked. I was choking down astonishment and anger. Darien wasn’t supposed to know. As far as I knew, he believed Urdo was his father.
“Well, because he’s sure he’s going to die tomorrow, and this is the armring of his family, and by giving it to me he’s giving his claim to be the king of the Jarns to Urdo.” He hesitated and turned the ring a little with his other hand. “Or rather, giving it to me because giving it directly to Urdo would be too obvious, I suppose. But I wasn’t expecting it at all.” He blinked again. “When did you get here, ap Gavan?”
“This afternoon,” Garah said.
“Can I see the armring?” I asked. Darien put his arm out and I looked at the worked gold. As long as Ulf had done it in a way that didn’t make Darien suspect, then it was all right. Seen as Ulf’s claim to be king of the Jarns it even made a sort of sense. “Is it very heavy?” I asked.
“No heavier than this,” he said, touching his throat self-consciously. He was wearing a heavy gold torc, twisted in the old style from before the Vincans came. “It seems to be my day for being given strange heirlooms. The dowager Rowanna found this in Caer Segant. She said it was Avren’s and Urdo should have it. Urdo said I should have it. He insisted. And that I don’t understand. He wasn’t like himself.”
“Did he tell you about the queen?” Garah asked.
“What about her?” Darien asked.
“She refused to escape from Caer Tanaga with Garah,” I said. “Urdo’s very distressed about it.”
“What do you mean refused?” Darien asked.
“She’s been listening to Morthu,” Garah said. “He told her that Urdo had been treating Sulien like a wife, and she believed it.”
“Damn Morthu and his poisoned tongue!” Darien said, immediately furious. “I need to talk to Urdo about this.”
“Not now,” I said. People were already moving through the camp. “After the feast.”
“Yes. Will you come with me?” he asked.
“Of course,” I said. “But as for strange heirlooms, will you have one from me?” I hadn’t known I was going to say it until the words were out of my mouth. But it felt right. I had given him so little, all these years. “If you can spare one of the brooches on your drape to stop Garah’s hair falling down, this amber brooch is an heirloom of our house, given to me by my father from his treasure.”
Garah put her fingers up to the pin immediately, but Darien did not move. “Thank you,” he said. “I have often seen you wearing it. But if you don’t mind, I won’t take it now. I have this awful foreboding of being weighed down by gold and with nobody to give me good advice. Give it to me another day, if you will.”
With that he walked away from us. Garah shivered a little. “He has grown up,” she said.
We went on through the camp. By the time we found Elidir, Garah only just had time to pat her face with some powder before we had to make our way up the hill to the feast.
The sun was sinking toward the clouds massing in the west, and the camps were full of cheering people. There were too many of us for everyone to eat together. The five alae, the two Isarganan armies, the militias of Derwen and of Segantia, and Alfwin’s army all ate in their own camps. Their food was what it would have been any day, with the addition of some fruit and ale from Caer Segant. All the same, they seemed to have caught the festival spirit. Even the sick and wounded had come out of their tents to participate. Maybe it was the sight of our massed banners on the hill, making a brave array. Maybe it was the music, for everywhere I went I seemed to be tripping over a Segantian musician. Or it might just have been the relief that we were going to fight at last and leave this camp. However it was, they cheered me and Garah as we made our way toward the hill, and they called our names.
Garah stopped unexpectedly. “They’ve got a Breghedan banner,” she said, and tears welled in her eyes.
They had indeed, just one, but plain to see among all the other colors. “Don’t cry, you’ll wash off all the powder,” I said.
Garah gave a choked laugh. “Yes, but a Breghedan banner! Wait till I tell Glyn.”
As we came nearer I saw that it was a gold charge banner hastily tacked onto someone’s red cloak. I don’t know how Rowanna managed to make it so quickly even so, and the effect from a distance couldn’t have been better.
We sat in a circle to eat, sitting where Rowanna put us. One of her servants filled our cups with Narlahenan wine. Most of us drank from leather or wooden cups, but for Urdo Rowanna had set out a gold cup and a gold plate. I had never seen such a thing, and had heard of them only in old tales. I wondered what else she had hidden away in chests in Caer Segant.
Everyone was dressed in their best. Masarn was sitting between ap Erbin and Alswith, clearly, but not indecorously, drunk. Alswith’s hair was caught up in a net of silver mesh on top of her head, which looked spectacular. Alfwin sat on Alswith’s other side, wearing even more gold than Darien. Atha sat next to him, with a patterned shawl over her head. One of her captains sat beside her, a quiet sensible man called Leary ap Ringabur. Raul was next, wearing his brown robes as always. Then came Ohtar, in all his barbaric finery. Garah was beside him. Then Darien, in his blue and gold, between her and me. Urdo was on my other side. I wondered how Elenn would take this when she heard. Urdo was dressed in white linen with a purple silk cloak. Rowanna sat on his right, veiled and formal, a captain beside her, in armor. Cadraith was next, in red velvet fastened with gold Vincan pins. Then came Teilo, in her robes. On her other side sat Inis, in his crazy colored shawl. Emer sat up very straight on his right, clearly having been persuaded to eat with Atha after all, though I didn’t see her eating anything. She was wearing a white dress that was a little large for her, and which I suspected of being borrowed from Alswith. Her two arm rings were her own though; I had seen them often before. Between her and ap Erbin sat Luth, in his famous blue breastplate and his praefecto’s cloak.
It was a strange meal, half tactical discussion of the coming battle and half diplomatic exercise. Urdo did not indicate by any word or sign that his heart was less than entirely in what he was doing. The earlier distress might never have been. I felt strangely detached, as if I were watching everything rather than participating. It seemed we were to fight down the road a little way, near a branch of the river called Agned, where the road crosses the river on a bridge. Urdo explained it all very clearly, and made sure everyone understood what the ground was like and what their part in the battle was going to be. A lot of it depended on how the enemy arranged themselves. I kept realizing I hadn’t said anything for a long time and ought to speak, but I didn’t have anything to say. Inis, too, spoke very little, and that little mostly to Emer. When we got up to leave he came up and put his hand on my arm. “Bear up, hero,” he said. I stared after him as he went off down the hill with Atha. They even got a cheer from the armigers who were waiting to see us come down.
Garah went off to bed. Darien and I went with Urdo to his tent.
“I’m glad that’s out of the way,” Urdo said, stretching and yawning. “It was important to my mother, and I have done it, but I would rather have had a conference about tactics, as usual.”
“So would I,” I agreed, sitting down. “Do you think the Isarnagans will understand what you want them to do?”
“Atha seemed to. But it’s hard to plan much in advance. So much of it depends on how they use Angas’s ala,” Urdo said, lighting a little lamp and pouring more wine. “And whether we can make a difference right at the beginning.”
“I wish I could have spoken to Angas,” I said, remembering his face on the first day of the talks. “I’m sure he’s not there entirely willingly.”
“Morthu has bewitched him with his voice,” Darien said.
“People cannot be persuaded by things against their will,” Urdo said, and there was pain in his voice.
“They can by sorcery,” Darien said. “I could get angry to think how you will believe anything rather than face that, but I know it
is more sorcery affecting you. Think. I wanted to talk to you about the queen, and it is the same for Angas. It isn’t that Morthu persuades people, though he does, it is sorcery. He weaves a spell of words. He takes the way people are, and takes their weaknesses, and makes power for himself out of them. If they have no weaknesses he turns their strengths against them, as a knife can be turned. He does this with words, with some power of his voice, but it is sorcery, I am sure of it. I have been hearing him do it since I was a child at Thansethan. It works on everyone around me and nobody will ever see it. He infects people with despair, and he twists their hearts. He has done this to Angas, and to the queen. He has done it to you, to both of you. He hasn’t persuaded you to join him, but you are thinking better of him than he deserves, or than his actions merit. You know he can do it, but you don’t think of it clearly.”
“He twists people’s strengths?” Urdo asked. “How?”
“Your mercifulness and your desire to be fair, to give the benefit of the doubt, and to keep to the Law,” Darien said, the lamplight reflecting on his gold as he leaned forward.
“I had never thought of those as faults in a king,” Urdo said, his voice very strange.
“They are not. That is what is so terrible about Morthu,” Darien said, jumping to his feet and pacing the tent as if he could no longer bear to be still. “They are strengths, I said they were. But think how you exiled Marchel after Varae, but how you have spared Morthu time after time.”
“There was never clear evidence before the Law, which there was for Marchel,” I said, to save Urdo saying it. He was weeping, and futile though it was I wished I could spare him some of the pain.
“He knew that and used it,” Darien said. “And he made you feel sorry for him and that he could change. I have seen him doing this time after time. He did it at Thansethan. He made Father Gerthmol’s kindliness into weakness, and his love of order into rigidity. I didn’t understand at first, but then I saw enough of it. The worst of it is that people can’t see it. You would rather think the queen a fool and a traitor than believe in his sorcery. Elenn could never betray us, there is no treachery in her. She is everything a great queen should be: beautiful, clever, diplomatic, skilled at logistics. Consider how honorably she has always treated me. But Morthu has leaned on the queen’s strength and pride, and her doubts that she is worthy to be loved, or to be your queen, when she has given you no children.” Darien looked so angry I wouldn’t have been surprised if his eyes had flashed fire, the way they do in stories.
“She knows that doesn’t matter, that isn’t what’s important,” Urdo said.
“You might have told her so, but she still feels she’s failed you that way,” Darien said. “It’s a weakness and a way in for him. He is so good at finding the little cracks in the wall we have built, and using them to force a knife blade, and after it an army.”
“He won’t succeed,” Urdo said. “There’s one thing I’ve learned in this war, and these truce talks, which is how well we have all learned Peace, how well it is rooted in all of us. We will fight this battle, and this war, and we will win in the end because Morthu is one man and his cause is only his own. He may have stuck his knife blade into our small cracks, but he only persuades by his own sorcery. The gods are on our side.” He looked at me and grinned, though his face was still wet with tears. “Remember the night before Foreth? When I die, you have to take her back my sword.”
“You’re no more likely to die tomorrow than in any battle,” I said gruffly.
“And no less,” he agreed. “The risk is always there. I’ve always taken it, even when Mardol and the others called me foolhardy to fight in the line myself. It’s necessary, I told them. Life is in the moment when you’re living it, one moment at a time. If the Peace was to be anything, it could not all rest on one man. But all the time I have known that if I die then my Peace would break with me. Before Foreth, I felt sure we would win, but I did not know what victory you could make without me, if I fell, and still I fought. But now, it is different. There are enough of you I trust that no matter if I am here or not I feel sure the Peace will go on without me, which is how it should be. I have never tried to make bargains with Fate, but I have always felt that she is not opposed to the Peace. Seeing it spreading, my work is done, if need be.”
“It would be better with you,” I managed to choke out.
“And I would rather live to see it,” he agreed calmly.
“I wish you’d let me fight Morthu,” Darien said. “One man or not, he’s a sorcerer and ruthless and powerful.”
“We’ll have to see how the battle goes tomorrow,” Urdo said. “Full tactical conference in the morning before we move into position to fight at noon.”
As I stood up to leave, I thought that something about the tent seemed different. I looked around, and caught sight of the box Urdo used to carry papers. It was closed, and the top was completely empty.
— 18 —
Before Gorai,
defender against tyranny,
I saw war horses
covered with blood.
After the howl of battle-cries
the green grass grows long.
Before Gorai,
defender against the heathen,
I saw a mighty shield wall
steel swords clashing.
After the howl of battle-cries
plenty of time to think.
Before Gorai,
defender against dissension,
I saw the thick of the fight
many killing, many being killed.
After the howl of battle cries
time to sleep easy.
—“Gorai ap Custennin” by Aneirin ap Erbin
At the end of our discussion after a skirmish or an exercise, Osvran would always finish off by saying, “Right. And we’re not going to make the same mistakes again, are we?” And we’d all chorus, “No, Praefecto!” I can see us now, Galba looking thoughtful, ap Erbin slim and with both his ears, and Enid grinning because there was always something she couldn’t resist. There is so much of that training I have not set down, so many happy times. All the same, it is Agned I must write about. Agned, and mistakes that shouldn’t have been made and were, beyond hope of getting it right next time, because there isn’t always another chance. Agned, not happy days; Agned, whether it’s easy or not, however many excuses I find to sharpen my pen and moisten the ink and stare out of the window dreaming and wondering when the flax will be ripe. The battle of Agned happened fifty-five years ago. It hasn’t been possible to change it in all that time. Anyone might think I would have got used to that by now.
The River Agned rises in the hills of Segantia; it runs down into the Tamer, and thus to the sea past Caer Tanaga. The river is navigable. There were occasional Jarnish raids up it in times when the raiders were very bold. I suppose it might have been fordable if you were prepared to go to a little trouble. But there was no need. The highroad from the west crosses it at a solid stone bridge called the Agned Bridge. There is a farmhouse there that was ruined in the wars and patched up again clumsily. I used to stop there to water the horses when I was riding from Derwen to Caer Tanaga, and I would sometimes exchange a few words with the farmers, and buy bread from them if they had been baking. If it hadn’t been for that I doubt I would even have known the river’s name. But now I will never forget it, though the name means the battle and not the river.
It’s not an easy battle to remember in order. It began at dawn with a tactical meeting in Urdo’s tent. A fine haze of rain was falling. The camp was breaking up around us as we spoke, the tribunos and decurios getting everyone in order. Almost everyone but the sick and wounded was going forward with us, even the doctors. Those of the wounded who could walk would have to look after the others. Mother Teilo was the only person staying who could sing the elder charm.
Cadraith had gone up to the battle site the day before with Raul and Father Cinwil to view the ground. He told us about it; the road, the river, the
gently rolling slopes, forested on the heights. He drew a detailed plan of it, and we agreed where we would draw up our troops.
“After we charge there’s going to be a gap at the end of our line here, across the road,” ap Erbin said, putting his finger on the spot. “An ala could come up there and turn the line.”
“Maybe we could put the wagons there,” Ohtar said. “The ones that have been coming up from Caer Segant with supplies. That would make a defensible point, if there were some troops there, too.”
“A good place for some of the militia,” Cadraith said.
“You said the rest of the Tanagan infantry go with us in the middle?” Ohtar said, moving his finger over the drawing. “Are you sure they all understand how Jarnsmen fight? They will stay with us? They will follow orders?”
“I talked to my troops about it last night,” Rowanna’s captain said. “Half of them are Jarnsmen themselves, and I have made sure the rest understand.”
“Then we will put the militia of Derwen around the wagons,” Urdo said. Raul made a note.
“They know the ala signals,” I said. Raul noted that, too.
“I’ve fought with Tanagan levies before,” Alfwin said. “They do startle easily, but there’s not much chance of them breaking and running if we’re in the center.”
“I am glad you are here. I could wish Guthrum had come,” Ohtar muttered, smiling at Rowanna’s captain, who smiled back a little shakily. He was a Tanagan, not a Jarn. “Arling is here in strength, and by now Ayl will have brought up all his troops.”
“I wish we could have made Ayl see sense,” said Darien wistfully. Then he shook his head. “Sorry. Where were we? Who else is in the center?”
“My people,” Emer said. “We will be next to Alfwin.”