The Prince in Waiting (3 page)

“Perhaps your last indeed.”

I shivered again. One skated until one became a man, and one was not a man until fifteen. There were times when the Spirits prophesied a death.

But he was smiling, his face improbably drawn into a grin.

“Go your way, Luke. The Spirits go with you.”

•  •  •

I found Martin and we took our skates to the river. In the morning he had been busy with duties; his mother was a widow and too poor to afford even a single polymuf servant. We skated for a couple of hours and by the end of that time one could tell the change that was taking place: the wind had swung from north to west and there was mildness in it. I told him of Ezzard's words as we walked back. He said:

“He is right often enough. But how?”

“Through the Spirits. How else?”

“But how?”

Martin was not even as tall as I, and slim with it. He had a girl's skin, delicate, almost transparent, and his brown eyes were big like a girl's. We had become friends when I rescued him from other boys who were tormenting him. The biggest of them was someone I very much disliked, and it was more through this than through a desire to help Martin that I had taken him on and given him a beating. It was only later that I grew to like Martin. His mind was curious, odd in its way of thinking, restless and speculative. Sometimes absurdly so. I said:

“The Spirits know the future as they know the past. And they tell Ezzard because he is the Seer. There is nothing difficult about it.”

He did not answer, and we did not pursue the matter because there was a horseman riding toward us, along Burnt Lane. I recognized horse and rider. My father called:

“Greetings, son! I was told you were down at the river and I came out to meet you.”

His lips laughed between the fair beard and curling yellow moustache. He would not have done this for a trivial reason. My heart leaped, but I said as evenly as I could:

“What news, sir?”

“Young Grant is ill. A fever. He will not fight on Thursday. You have his place in the Contest.”

I stared at him. He leaned down and swept me onto his saddlebow, and I did not resent it. We rode homeward, Martin running beside us.

And I thought of what Ezzard had said. A Young Captain was called a man, though not fifteen. I would not skate next winter with the boys, but serve the Prince as apprentice warrior. There had been two prophecies after all.

W
E HAD A DAY TO
prepare for the Contest and it rained almost continually. It was a cold drizzle to start with, soaking and depressing, and after a couple of hours of slithering and sliding and falling on the practice field Edmund called his team together and rode them off. Henry and Gregory followed suit. To have continued after the Prince's son had stopped would have been to risk being mocked at for too great keenness, and I think in any case they were glad enough to head for home.

I brought my own team off the field but set a slow pace along the road to the city, and by the time we reached the fork at the Elder Pond the others, galloping toward a change of clothes, hot drinks and warm fires, were out of sight. At the pond I called them to take the left fork, away from the city. They halted in confusion. I reined in and rode slowly back.

Laurie, who was the best man I had, said:

“Why left?”

I waited, letting them look at me, for some moments before replying. I said:

“Listen. I am your Captain. We are the weakest team in the Contest. Do you know the odds they are offering in the alehouses against our winning? Fifty to one, and I have heard that some have offered a hundred without finding takers.”

They stared at me, drenched and miserable, the flanks of their horses steaming. An unprepossessing lot even without being bedraggled and spotted with mud.

The number of each team in the Contest was fixed at four, apart from the Junior Captain. It would have been fairer if selection had been by lot but the test was as much as anything for leadership and a leader chooses his men. Or is chosen by them. Of those who, being of the age and yet not of noble family, could take part, most naturally would have preferred to follow the Prince's son. Not for the honor only, of course: he was favored to win and the winning team, to match their Captain's jeweled sword, drew gold coins as a reward. The teams coming second and third obtained silver and bronze, while that which was first eliminated got nothing but the mob's derision for its pains.

Because of this I had been left with, for the most part, those already rejected by the other leaders. Martin, of course, had volunteered at once. He was not a good horseman and was a poorer swordsman but at least I knew he would fight hard for me. And there was some consolation, too, as far as the rest were concerned, in thinking that they were willing to take part with so little prospect of victory or reward. Even if lacking in skill they were eager for the fight.

I said: “They believe we are certain to lose. But nothing is certain, neither victory nor defeat. Skill counts for much, but so does preparation and hard work. The others have gone home. Soon they will be stabling their horses and taking things easy. We may be weaker in some respects but we can be stronger in endurance. We are not going back to the city but to a quiet place where we can train undisturbed and unobserved. You are wet and tired. So am I. We cannot get wetter and if we get more tired we shall sleep the better tonight and be more refreshed for tomorrow. Laurie!”

“Yes, Captain.”

That was good. He was supposed to give me the title but I had thought I might have to demand it. I said, still harshly:

“You asked: ‘Why left?' From now on, in training first and then in the fight, none puts such a question to me. Is that clear?” My eyes went from one to the other, forcing them to nod assent. “I give commands. You obey. If this is done well enough, I shall wear the jeweled sword tomorrow, and you will have gold.” I turned my horse from them and from the road to the city. “Follow.”

What I had been telling them was, I was sure, nonsense, at any rate insofar as any hopes of our winning the Contest were concerned. What I really wanted was to avoid coming last. As I have said, the team first eliminated always drew jeers from the crowd and I could not bear the thought of it. If we could survive into the second round, I would be happy enough. I had two reasons for pitching things high to my men. One was to shatter the pessimism they must feel over our chances; the second to give them heart for the grueling task ahead, because I meant to keep them at it till both we and our horses were ready to drop from exhaustion. I would risk them going tired into the fight. I was determined we should go in more ready for the tricks our opponents might play, more skilled in evading or countering them.

My father had the lordship of a farm a few miles from the eastern gate. I had the farmer get his polymufs to drive cattle from a field and we went at it there. In the Contest, as in all fighting on horseback, understanding and control of one's horse comes first. The horses we had were drawn from the army stables and their ways needed learning. To get mounts for their troop the Young Captains drew lots and chose in turn. The others had gone, as was usual, for the bigger horses. I had let them do so; the ground would be heavy after rain. From one of the grooms, a dwarf I knew well, I sought advice as to which of the smaller beasts were best for stamina, speed, sure-footedness, and I picked them. I had already found that he had given me good guidance. The horses were sound; now it was up to me and my men to learn to handle them. I split the men in two pairs, myself taking first one side then the other, and we rode at each other in mock battle.

The aim of each team must be to unsaddle the opposing Captains, because once the Captain is dismounted that team retires. There are scores, hundreds, of different tactics which can be employed, but nearly all revolve around a situation in which the Captain has two defending outriders and two attacking ones. This, I had decided, must be abandoned for a start. I could not afford to hide behind defenders, even if the defense were reliable. My only hope lay in deliberately taking chances.

In close fighting there were countless forms of assault and parry. The wooden swords were our offensive weapons, and we carried small leather shields as a means of defense, but by getting in close enough one could buffet or drag a man from his horse, or pluck, swooping, at his stirrup and upend him. I had studied tricks of Captains in previous years, and there were one or two of my own that I added. I rehearsed my men (and myself) in these over and over again. Beyond that we practiced riding in various patterns and directions in response to signals of command. It was a slow business and more often than not ended in confusion and disorder.

After another couple of hours, I ordered a break. The farmer had prepared food and drink for us and they were more than ready for it, but first I saw to it that the ponies were fed and watered and rubbed down and blanketed. We ate heartily and I let the men rest a while afterward. Then I called them back to work. They groaned but made no protest. The rain was still soaking down, as steadily though perhaps less chilly. We slogged on as the afternoon drew slowly toward dusk. The sky's gray was tinged with black when at last I gave the order to break off. We rode back slowly, dog-tired, to the city.

I swore them to secrecy before we parted; if anyone asked, we had spent the day in the farmhouse, penned in by the rain, gambling with dice. Of the dwarf groom, Murri, I asked the same confidence. Seeing to the ponies with me, he said:

“You could have lamed them, Master.”

“But did not.” I gave him money. “A good bran mash tonight, with strong ale in it, and tomorrow the best oats you can find. They will be all right for the afternoon?”

“They will be all right.” He looked up at me, grinning. “I will cheer for you, Master Luke.”

“Will you back me?”

“No.” He wagged his broad head. “We dwarfs are men of heart, as is well known, but we do not let our hearts rule our minds. And we are no believers in miracles.”

I nodded. I think I was too tired to smile.

•  •  •

It was my intention to slip quietly into my home and get the servants to fill me a bath. But as I crossed the courtyard my father called from his window and I had to go to him. He said:

“Where have you been, Luke? The others were back by mid-morning.”

“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.