The Sword of the Spirits

  “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.”

  THREE

  BLODWEN’S SUMMER

  IT IS STRANGE WHAT POWER beauty can wield over men’s minds. Blodwen had been only three days in the city, but she had conquered them absolutely.

  They cheered us as we rode up through the streets together to the palace. Then they gathered outside. This was usual after a victory. The Prince must show himself on the main balcony, to be cheered again and to promise his citizens free ale at the victory feast that followed.

  They acclaimed me well enough when I went out, and shouted my name with vigor. But when I drew Blodwen out to stand beside me, I thought they would go mad. I had never heard such cheering anywhere. And when she blew them a kiss I thought they were mad already: the din battered one’s eardrums.

  And her power, I saw, lay not in her beauty alone but in the warmth and ease that went with it, that were a part of it. The gesture of blowing them a kiss illustrated that. In the press directly under the balcony I saw an old polymuf road-sweeper called Dirk. He was not much of a sweeper, having arms little bigger than a baby’s to hold his broom, but there was no other work he could do: his mind was not much greater than a child’s, either. He stood and held up his tiny arms toward her, and tears flooded down his face unchecked. He had taken the kiss as his; as they all had.

  I looked at her, close by where they were far off, and still found no flaw. The pink and white of her skin, the delicate gold of her hair, were without blemish, as was the wide-eyed candor and radiance of her look. I thought of my own roughness beside her: no one could ever have praised me for my looks. But at least this beauty was to be mine, and I had a right arm strong enough to defend it against all threats or dangers.

  It took some doing but we escaped from them at last. And at last we were alone, in my parlor. She said:

  “I like your city, Luke, and your people.”

  “It is plain they love you.”

  Now that we were together and on our own I felt my old awkwardness with her return. It was part of the awkwardness I had always felt with girls, but made worse
by the power her beauty had over me, too. I had a strong arm to defend her, but I wished desperately for a readier tongue with which to talk to her.

  She smiled. “You have not given me much welcome yet. Are you not glad to see me?”

  She offered me her cheek, and I kissed it clumsily. Then I wanted to take her in my arms and kiss her again, but she slipped from me. I said:

  “I am very glad to see you. You know that. But astonished. How do you come to be here?”

  She shrugged. “As you came to my city—through the wild country and over the pass between the Burning Lands.” She gave a small shiver. “That was the part I did not like—those smoldering black rocks and sand, and no life anywhere.”

  I burst out: “But how did your father permit it? To make such a journey and take such risks . . .”

  Blodwen smiled. “As I told you in Klan Gothlen, we women of the Wilsh are our own mistresses. We are not so easily bid as your southern ladies. My father did not want me to come but he did not try to stop me. He sent fifty of his finest soldiers to guard me, though. I was safe enough from the savages.”

  I could believe that: every one of the fifty would have given his life for her, and although at first I had been contemptuous of the Wilsh as soldiers I had reached a different view before we left their city. But I was still astonished that she should have come. Not only because of the hazardousness of the journey. There might also seem to be impropriety in it. It was not fitting for a girl, even though betrothed, to seek out and visit a man.

  She smiled at me again, and I reminded myself that these considerations were part of our southern customs. And I realized that even if that were not the case, even if such rules bound girls in the land of the Wilsh as well, they could not bind Blodwen. Nothing could. She did not live by the rules of others but framed her own.

  She said: “I will tell you why I came, Luke—apart, of course, from wishing to see you again.”

  She laughed at those last words, making a jest of them and taking away, though gently, some of the pleasure they had given me. She put her hand on mine, and I felt its soft warmth.

  “Do you remember,” she asked me, “when we spoke on the stairs above the throne room in my father’s palace?”