The Prince in Waiting Read online

  “We went out to the farm, sir. Cooper gave us food.”

  “You stayed the whole day there?”

  “It was raining. There seemed small point in coming back.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Dicing. And talking. Idling, I suppose.”

  He looked at me through the open window. “Was that the best way you could find of passing the time on the day before the Contest?”

  “I am sorry, sir.”

  “You are a strange lad. You keep your own counsel, even from me.” I waited. The lamp was behind him but I saw him smile. “You cannot see yourself, can you? Or smell yourself. If you roll in muck long enough your nose grows accustomed to it. You are covered not just in mud but cow-dung. Did you dice out in the fields, in the wet? And has idling bowed your shoulders?”

  “Sir . . .”

  He cut across my words. “I will not keep you in the rain. But listen to one thing. It is proper to be ambitious but do not overreach yourself. Yesterday you had been passed over for the Contest. Today you are one of the four Young Captains and tomorrow you will ride out with your men to the Field. I only ask that you acquit yourself well. Do not hope for too much and risk the bitterness of disappointment. You know how it takes you.”

  “I will do as you say, sir.”

  The smile had gone. He stared at me a while longer, then said:

  “Get yourself washed and changed. We will meet at supper.”

  He closed the window and turned away.

  • • •

  I awoke in the small hours of the night, the sweat chilling on my exposed flesh where, in my dream, I had pushed the covers back. The dream was with me still, and vivid. I was alone on a vast field, far greater than the Contest Field, and my enemies were chasing me. I had no help, no hope and no courage to do the one thing I knew I must do: turn and face them. They overhauled but did not quite take me and I knew that this was because they did not wish to yet, because they were playing with me, cats with a terrified mouse. All round and it seemed from the sky above came the mocking roar of the crowd, urging on my enemies, laughing me to scorn.

  I lay there, sweating and trembling, and then got up. I fumbled in the dark for my pitcher of water, and drank. Then I went to the windows and pulled them open. The rain had stopped and the night was very still, black except for the glow behind the western hills that marked the Burning Lands. A dog barked far off, once and no more.

  It had been a nightmare, a vexation, as Ezzard would have told me, of the unguarded mind by those Spirits who ruled the domain of sleep. I had eaten too richly the night before—in my hunger I had devoured half a loaf of bread and a huge chunk of cheese. Apart from that I could pay a penny to the Acolyte, to ask the Spirits who protected men to give me special care. And now I must dismiss it from my mind, go back to bed, sleep and be refreshed for tomorrow.

  I returned to my bed but I did not sleep. Thoughts ran jumbled through my head, not about the dream but the reality. I imagined the fight, looked at it from every point of view, and from every point of view was driven to the same conclusion: we had no chance at all. It was a standard operation for the three stronger teams to concentrate first on eliminating the weakest. I had worked out plans to counter this but here in the still center of the night I recognized their futility. They would only, as I saw, expose us to greater mockery when they failed.

  I thought of my father’s warning and acknowledged the truth of it. Pride and ambition ran too strongly in me. It would be better to settle for what I had, to be contented with my lot. It was, after all, a good one. I had been born true man, not dwarf nor, God forbid, polymuf. I had been born in this city of a noble father—of no lineage, but noble. I had my health and strength, the use of my wits. Now, by the fortune of another’s falling sick, I was chosen a Junior Captain and, whatever happened in the Contest, would wear a sword tomorrow night at the feast. Even if we were ignominiously defeated, I myself unhorsed in the first charge, the defeat and the derision that went with it, the hissing and the laughter, were a small price to pay for what I gained.

  That was the sensible way to look at it. But as I thought of the mob and its ridicule the sweat was cold again on my back and down my legs. I turned violently in my bed, striking the pillow with my fist, willing my mind to blankness, willing sleep to come. I must rest, to be strong for the day ahead. But the more I demanded, the further sleep drew from me. At last I turned to pleading. I called on the Spirits of my Ancestors to aid me. That, too, did not help. The window’s square had begun to pale before exhaustion succeeded where demands and pleas had failed, and I slept.

  Then the maid, Janet, was shaking my shoulder gently. It was broad day. I looked at her through eyes that would scarcely open, my mind fogged and stupid.

  “Time to rise, Master Luke.”

  I asked: “What day is this?”

  She smiled at me. She had no visible deformities but she wore her dresses high up at the neck. A good-looking woman but she was past thirty and had not married; though most polymufs did. The destructive Spirits, one guessed, had done their work cruelly on her.

  “Contest Day, Master Luke,” she said. “Your day.”

  • • •

  It rained all morning but the rain was warm now. Blowing direct from the Burning Lands, it left a coating of gray behind it. I could imagine my Aunt Mary’s lips tightening as she watched the white sills and flags outside her house besmirched. The polymufs would be hard at work as soon as the rain ceased.

  And it did cease around midday. In the early afternoon the Young Captains rode their troops out of the city with leather jackets dry and silver epaulets gleaming in a watery sunlight. We rode in procession across the bridge and through the East Gate. The Prince and his Captains led the way, followed by their ladies. Next came Ezzard and the Acolytes; then the Young Captains in order of lineage. Edmund first, of course, as son of the Prince, followed by Gregory and Henry. I came last. After us the senior burgesses, the Sergeants, farmers in for the day. Then the common people, then the dwarfs. Last of all the polymufs. There was chattering and laughter, and strollers playing instruments and singing songs.

  The city would be almost emptied of people, the walls which Prince Stephen had built so high stood unmanned. It was true that this was the time of the Spring Fair when no war was made throughout the civilized lands. The Spirits forbade it. But if someone broke the truce, I wondered, did that mean the Spirits would defend the city lying at the attacker’s mercy? Their ways, as even the Seers admitted, were capricious; neither punishment nor reward was certain. I remembered my own desperate pleas for sleep and how they had gone unanswered. Contests like this one were held in the other cities, too. Romsey, for instance, no more than ten miles to the southwest . . . a handful of men, riding swiftly, could take and hold it.

  I dismissed the speculations as futile. It was the custom to keep peace until after the Spring Fair. Even to think of anything different was to offend the Spirits. They had not helped me in the night but they might still help me in the fight to come. And I needed help, all the help I could get.

  We came to the Contest Field and Ezzard blessed the contestants in the name of the Spirits. Tents had been erected at one end for the nobles. I saw my father and mother there, and Peter. Not Aunt Mary. A woman who married a nobleman became a lady but the wife he had put aside had no rank. I trotted my horse past the throngs of commoners and found her, wedged in at the front. I dismounted and bowed to her.

  “Greetings, Aunt Mary. Wish me well.”

  She nodded fiercely. “I do that, Luke.”

  A man nearby made a jest about my chances and others laughed. She turned on them and they fell silent. I mounted and rode to where my parents sat. My mother said:

  “Don’t get hurt.”

  She spoke in a little frightened voice. She had clapped her hands with delight on hearing that I had been picked to be a Young Captain. She lived in the moment. Nothing was real to her before it happened, or mattered much after.


  My father said: “I know you will fight hard, so I have nothing to tell you. The Spirits go with you.”

  The first gong boomed and it was time to bow our heads before the Prince. On the second gong the Contest started.

  • • •

  Each Captain took a corner of the field. I had the western one, nearest to the city but farthest from the Prince’s tent. I waited with my men and spoke to them quietly:

  “Remember, keep silence.”

  It was usual for the teams to go into the fight noisily, yelling threats and imprecations. To cause fear, I suppose. It seemed to me that if mine were not already frightened by the odds against them a few shouts would not make them so. Our keeping silence would set us apart from the others but perhaps not to our disadvantage. It would also, I felt, help us to concentrate more, and help my men more easily listen to my commands.

  The second gong boomed.

  The four teams advanced warily from their corners. There were a number of ways in which a Contest might begin. Sometimes the teams circled the field for a period, keeping their distances, until one broke into an assault on another. Sometimes they met right away in a furious all-in melee toward the center. There was another possibility which I had dreaded, and my heart sank as I realized that this was what was happening. The other three teams were converging on ours; they were combining to eliminate the weakest before settling down to a Contest of three.

  I had made my plan and I was committed to it. If it did not come off it must make me look a fool or a coward, more probably both. The distances narrowed and I waited for the moment and watched for the opening. It must be left till the very last instant but the last instant could be too late. They had started hurling threats and catcalls at us. I said to Laurie on my left:

  “Stand when I break. After that, it’s up to you.”

  They were not hurrying. Edmund’s troop were a little ahead of the rest and I saw him rein in to let the other two come up. They were out to crush us completely and were taking no chances. They were within twenty feet, fifteen. The best gap was between Henry’s troop and the fence. Sharply I dug in spurs and set my pony’s head toward it.

  The roar from the crowd momentarily drowned the yells of our attackers. As I have said, a team was eliminated as soon as its Captain was unhorsed. To bolt away from the protection of one’s men was unheard of. My team, I knew, were standing fast behind me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the other teams confusedly trying to change direction. My sudden move had taken them by surprise but they were rallying to follow the obvious quarry. They must think me mad or panic-stricken. Whichever it was, their aim remained the same and its fulfillment now was easier. They were certain of riding me down.

  One of Henry’s men swiped at me but did not reach me as I got through the gap. I eased off, not to put too great a distance between me and my pursuers, and rode not for the corner diagonally opposite but for the nearer north corner. The field was a big one, of more than a hundred acres, but it seemed small to me now. Fortunately they did not have the sense to fan out but came after me in a bunch. Fifteen yards from the corner I wheeled and made my second dash, past their left flank.

  I did not clear it fully this time. Two got glancing blows in on me and ahead I saw an outrider. I had to go between him and his nearest companion and they moved as I did, to sandwich me. They almost succeeded. My horse squealed as the shoulder of a big bay slammed against her rump, and a chopping blow from a sword made my head ring and rocked me in the saddle. But they could not hold me. I was through again and this time heard the cry I had been waiting for, Laurie’s exultant shout:

  “Three down! Against Gregory!”

  This had been my plan. I had gambled that, in hot expectant pursuit of me, they would ignore my team. These, under Laurie’s command, had ridden in chase of the chasers, with the aim of picking off men in that team which was straggler to the others. And the ruse had succeeded: they had got three of Gregory’s men before anyone realized what was happening. Now as I wheeled once more they rode back to me in triumph while the rest, confused again and uncertain, rallied to their own Captains.

  The uncertainty did not last long. We were no longer the weakest, to be harried and destroyed. Three of Gregory’s men were limping from the field, their horses running free. Gregory, with his last remaining follower, backed toward the north corner. He knew what must follow.

  The three teams came in on him for the kill, but here again our intention was not what it seemed. We left the unhorsing of Gregory to the others, going ourselves for Henry. Laurie and I pulled down one of his men while the other three got a second. Then I rode for Henry himself. My sword crashed against his shield. In riposte he got through my defense and struck me in the ribs, jerking me backward. I was struggling to keep my foot in the stirrups when the gong boomed to a new tumult from the crowd. The first Captain was down, bringing the first interval. Henry and I drew away from each other and I saw Gregory walking disconsolately toward the Captains’ tent.

  The tactics of the second round were simpler. Edmund and I needed no conference to establish the advantages that lay for both of us in cooperation. Our teams were intact while Henry was reduced to a single man on either side. We must join forces to crush him.

  But although the aim was simple it proved far from easy. Henry fought tigerishly and with intelligence, again and again forcing a way clear of us and gaining a breathing space. I lost Martin before either of Henry’s two men were down. If I lost another we would be as weak as he was—weaker because he had better men—and things could turn against us. I shouted to Laurie and he and I picked out Henry’s left flanker and attacked him together. He parried my blow but Laurie’s, coming in from the other side, toppled him from the saddle.

  Even then it was not over. When Henry was at last alone he fought on for what seemed an age, earning the crowd’s acclaim. But we got him in the end, dragging him down almost, as hounds would a stag. The gong sounded and wearily we drew apart. Only then did I realize that two more men had gone, one from Edmund’s team and the other, a lad called Carey, from my own.

  We were all battered by this time and Laurie was streaming blood from a gash just below his ear. My head rang from the blows I had received, despite my leather helmet, and my shield arm was so stiff and painful that even raising the shield was an agony. (Two of the dismounted, we learned, had broken arms, a third a dislocated shoulder.) But we had survived two rounds, against odds. We had good reason to be proud. We could rest on the laurels we had already won. It would not matter if Edmund overwhelmed us at the end.

  As, plainly, he must do. He had four men against three and the four were stronger and better fighters. There was no more room for tricks of playing one against another. Our horses were tired, too, their early nimbleness worn down by the pounding of the fight and the sticky churned-up mud of the field. We had done better than anyone could have guessed and though Edmund took the jeweled sword he would not take all the credit.

  But although before the Contest I would have settled gladly for the present situation, now, fiercely, my ambition demanded more. In a battle of attrition we had no chance but if . . . I spoke to my two remaining followers. Laurie shook his head.

  “It cannot succeed.”

  “Perhaps not. But neither can anything else.”

  The gong sounded again and we came out of our corners. Edmund and his men rode slowly, bunched together. On my command, though, my two swung left while I myself bore right. I saw Edmund halt his team, considering.

  He was alert for tricks but he could not see one here. We, the weaker side, had split our forces and I, their Captain, was heading away from my men. His response did not need much working out. He detached two of his men toward my two, to hold them if they could not overcome them. He and his chief lieutenant, a huge brawny lad called Tom, headed for me.

  They split as they drew near, to take me one on either side. I had expected that, too. Ten yards, five. I freed my feet from the stirrups. They came at me
, swords raised to slash. As they did so, as Edmund’s horse came alongside mine, I threw myself out of my saddle and onto him.

  He could have withstood me if he had kept his head, but he flinched. I got him by the neck, dragging him down. Tom tried to get round to help him but could not do so for my horse. Edmund and I crashed to the ground together.

  The rule had it that if the last two Captains were dismounted simultaneously they must remount and meet for a decision, but this time unassisted. I watched him ride toward me from his corner. I had thought my shield arm hurt before but now it felt as though a thousand devils were sitting on it, driving in claws of fire. He was stronger than I was and had beaten me often enough in swordplay. Under normal conditions I was no match for him in single combat.

  But conditions were not normal. Twice that afternoon I had surprised him. In addition, I was Captain of a team the others had contemptuously decided to eliminate at the start and we had won through. And he had flinched when I fell on him, and he knew I knew it.

  I had kept silence throughout the Contest. But as we closed I yelled deep in my throat, a yell of hate and triumph. I watched his eyes and saw them wince. Then there was no time for anything but fighting as our swords smacked heavily together. He held his ground for a few minutes and we traded blows. His horse was heavy enough to have forced mine back but he lacked the will for it. Instead it was he who gave way. I prodded his horse’s flank with my sword. It reared and he fell, almost willingly.

  Not looking back I rode my horse toward the Prince’s tent.

  THREE

  THE SEANCE OF THE CROWNS

  TWO DAYS AFTER THE END of the spring Fair, the earth quaked. It happened in mid-morning and I was in the grazing meadows riding the horse my father had given me for my victory in the Contest. It was a roan gelding of fourteen hands and he knew of the quake before it happened, as was often the case with animals: he halted and whinnied with fear, and stood there shivering. As my foot touched the ground, dismounting, it seemed to move away from me, in a heavy rolling which made me stagger and almost fall.