The Prince in Waiting (16 page)

He spoke calmly and reasonably, therefore persuasively. I saw some nod their heads, among them Greene. Harding went on:

“If we surrender now we do not surrender for all time. He lets us keep our swords, but I do not think any of us will forget what happened this morning. There will be a time to fight again. Not for the sake of a Prince whose ambition is well ended, but for our honor.”

“He may bind us in a treaty of peace,” Greene said.

“No doubt he will. And we will keep it as long as they do. But who has ever known a treaty of peace that the other side could say they kept in everything? And if they break it, we are free.”

He was winning them, and not to his plan of action only. His aim, I saw, was deeper. The city lacked a Prince and he was advancing his claim. Blaine had shown himself rash and the Captains, smarting from being tricked, wanted a man of guile and caution. They had chosen Harding to speak to Jeremy's herald. If they followed him now they would acclaim him even before the men of Romsey rode away.

He had been cunning, too, after stressing the inevitability of surrender, in raising hopes of revenge. Ripon said:

“They will break it! And by the Great, when they do . . .”

Other voices rose, on the same note of resentment but also with new assurance. Then one said, strongly:

“Wait!”

It was Peter, my cousin. He had not spoken in all the previous talk. Looking at him I had thought him stunned, perhaps even more than I was, by what had happened. But he spoke now with strength and confidence. On that single word they listened to him.

He said: “I can show you how to win back the city and not lose a man.”

Blaine began to say something but stopped. Harding said:

“This one has gone mad. We know what blood runs in his veins.”

Ignoring him, Peter said to the other Captains:

“Or would you rather bend your knees to Jeremy, pay him gold, watch him drive off Winchester cattle and load his carts with your women's jewels?”

“If you are not mad,” Greene said, “tell us how.”

“I have conditions first.”

“You name conditions!” Blaine said. “A Perry, commoner born, naming conditions to us . . .!”

He stared at Blaine. “Yes, I name conditions.”

His voice was level, without anger but with certainty. Greene said:

“If this is a jest, Perry, you may find the laughter cut short. Say it quickly.”

“There are two,” Peter said. “The first is that a ransom is paid, but not to Romsey. We will pay gold to the Christians so that they can build a church to their god.”

There was a confusion of protest, laughter, incredulity. I heard Harding's voice: “Mad, as I said. Do you want more proof?” Peter let them run on for some moments. Then he said, and they went quiet as he spoke:

“This will be done because it is through the Christians that the city will be regained.”

“How else?” cried Blaine. “We had forgotten those warriors of ours. I can see them, driving the Romsey men down the High Street with their crosses!”

Peter ignored him. He said:

“You know that in Winchester men despise them, but do not harm them. It is not so everywhere. In some cities they are harried by Seers who have them tortured or killed for refusing to worship the Spirits. And even where they are safe for the moment they have no confidence that the safety will last. If Ezzard does not persecute them, the next Seer of Winchester might. So they take their precautions.”

He paused before going on. He had all their attention, even Blaine's.

“I have considered this all day. As you will guess, I have it from my wife. She was bound to keep the secret, but told me. Her trust in me binds me also. If I break it, as I think I must, then I demand a tribute for her god, to turn away his wrath. Do I get this from you?”

Harding stared at him with cold, appraising eyes.

Greene said: “If it is worth it, you get it.”

“It is worth it. A tunnel that goes under Stephen's great walls. Cramped and dirty, but men can crawl through it. It was the way of escape for the Christians and can be a way in for men who will take the North Gate and open it to our army. I know where it starts. Will you give them gold and the right to build their church?”

“By the Great,” Greene said, “I will! And I do not think any will refuse.”

I heard voices speak approval and none opposing.

Peter said: “That is one condition.”

Blaine asked: “And the other?”

“My father is dead. He died by treachery, murdered by his host. Jeremy dies for this. There will be no ransom for the Prince of Romsey.”

They roared assent, and he put a hand up to stop them.

“That is not the condition. I did not think any of you would let him live. My father was a great Prince. His Spirit requires more than just revenge; it needs his own blood to follow him in power, his son in the Great Hall.”

I saw them look at me. Blaine said:

“He is a boy, too young to govern himself, let alone a city like ours.”

Peter looked at me, too, and smiled. I saw the smile but could not read what lay behind it. He said:

“You mistake me, Blaine. My father had two sons. I was first born. I claim his place.”

There was silence again and his unwavering, confident gaze went round their faces. Then Greene broke out:

“Do as you say, Perry, and you have my voice!”

The rest followed. Even Blaine and Harding were forced to an assent. Blaine gave it grudgingly but Harding showed no emotion in his voice.

•  •  •

The rain stopped toward evening. The sky above the city was painted in scarlet and orange. Clouds hung huge over the walls, first red then purple, at last black against a deep-blue sky. Occasionally one saw a head silhouetted above the battlements, one of Romsey's men. It was not until full darkness came that the army marched, quietly and by a circuitous path, to take up its position outside the North Gate.

I watched with Edmund. Peter, with two other Captains, one of them Greene, and a band of picked men, had left for the hut, a broken-down shack thought to be abandoned years before, under whose floor the tunnel started. They would come out into the house of the Priest, as the leader of the Christians was called, near the North Gate and from there it would be easy to fall on the Romsey men defending that gate from behind. Our army waited for the sign, a torch flourished in the gateway, which would tell them the way was open.

Time dragged by—minutes, hours it seemed. We did not speak much. We were each occupied with our own thoughts. Mine were confused and bitter. This morning the thought of seeing Jeremy's head set up in place of my father's would have been a joy to override anything. It was so no longer. The blackness of despair was back in my mind, the sense that all was useless: one could not live without hope, but always hope betrayed.

It was cold even though the rain had stopped. I started to shiver but I think it came more from melancholy than from the night air. I tried to stop it, not wanting Edmund to notice, but could not. He shifted beside me, and said:

“Luke.”

“Yes.”

“When this is over, what do you plan to do?”

“Don't know.”

I answered shortly so that he would not hear my teeth chatter. He said:

“If you thought of leaving the city, going north perhaps, I would go with you.”

I did not answer and he did not speak again. I was too bitter and wretched to realize what he was offering: that having weathered his own grief and disappointment he would still go into exile with me as a companion to me in mine. Later I understood. Friendship meant much to him, more than it could ever do to me.

We waited and my limbs shook. I set my jaw until it, my neck, my whole body ached with the strain. Then the light shone ahead, the dull tramp of feet went past us, and soon, following after the army, we heard the distant sounds of the struggle. Not for long. We had the advantage of surprise and our men were fighting in their own streets. Inside half an hour the last of Romsey's warriors had laid down his arms. Inside an hour fat Jeremy's head topped the palace gate.

•  •  •

I went back that night with Edmund to the house in Salt Street, though I did not sleep. Next morning, after breakfast, I slipped away without a word and went to the palace. Because he would have insisted on coming with me I said nothing to Edmund. Whatever I faced was mine, mine only, and I would face it alone.

I stood for a while in the crowd that stared at Jeremy's head. They were in a festive mood, many drunk already, and from time to time they roared for their Prince, Peter, to come and show himself. I saw Christians there and men slapping them on the back as comrades while they looked dazed and disbelieving. A player was singing a song made up for the occasion:

“Under the walls bold Peter came—

Took the gate with a torch of flame—

And so made good his father's shame . . .”

A new roar drowned it as Peter came out on the balcony. I slipped away and in at a side door. I passed polymuf servants; some of them bobbed to me but others did not. Two soldiers stared at me and one laughed behind my back. I went to my room and waited for whatever was to happen.

Martin found me there, staring blindly out of the window at wet roofs under a gray sky. He said: “Luke,” and I turned.

“Ezzard wants you.”

“He will find me here.”

“The risk is too great.”

“Poor Ezzard.”

“For you both. You must come.”

“No must,” I said. “I have had enough of must from Fate itself.”

“Remember what the High Seers said: that you have a mission and when the time comes you must obey. You promised it.”

“I never told you that.”

“But I know.”

“And you still believe that nonsense?”

“More than ever.”

There was passion in his thin face. The tricks by which Ezzard had won him over must have been good ones. I argued for a while but he had more conviction than I, who was waiting for I knew not what except that it could not be good. I went with him, through the palace and out into the street. Someone jeered after us. He did not lead me toward the Seance Hall but along a side street. We stopped at a house near a tavern and, after a quick look round, he drew me in.

Ezzard was waiting in a room upstairs. He looked more white and gaunt than ever. He said:

“Well done, Martin. Leave us now.” As the door closed, he added: “We must get you out of here, Luke, and quickly.”

I said: “I came for one thing, sire. To curse the Spirits who led my father to his death, and the Seer who spoke for them.”

He showed no anger. In a quiet voice, he said:

“Curse if you will, but do as I say. Your life is not worth a halfpenny here. Even if Peter does not order it, someone will have you killed, thinking to please him. You were named heir and Prince of Princes. Alive, you challenge his power. Things may be different later but these are days of doubt and murder. Leaving Peter out of it, there are enough who would rather see one Perry left than two. Your only hope is in flight.”

“I will not flee.”

“Listen, boy. You are a fool but not a complete fool or you would not have been chosen. Even though he is dead, would you do your father's will?”

“If I knew it. Are you to tell me? But for you he would be living still.”

“Did he fear death?” I hesitated. “You know better. He thirsted for it. If the Spirits guided the assassins' knives he thanked them for it with his last breath. Is this not true?”

I was silent. He said: “Your father lived to do his duty and prepare for your succession.”

“My succession!” I laughed. “As Prince of Princes.”

“Yes. And the prophecy lives while you do. The Captains know that. So does your father's Spirit. Can you deny it? If you will not ask me what he would have wished, consult your memory of him. It is fresh still.”

In my mind I saw him, sitting in his armchair in front of the painting of my mother. His eyes were on me. Was everything a waste, all hope and effort, did everything shatter and fail? I could not think otherwise but he had, and perhaps had died with that belief outweighing the pain and betrayal. I owed him something.

I asked: “Where would you have me go?”

“To the Sanctuary. Where else?”

I nodded. “As you wish, then, sire.”

I
LEFT THE CITY OF
my birth in a shameful fashion. Ezzard found rags for me to wear and fixed a cloth hump on my back so that I looked like a polymuf. He for his part put on women's clothes, a tattered gray cloak and a pointed hat, and walked slowly as though hobbled by old age. But the disguise was good. I saw several people who would have known me but they paid us no attention except one, a son of the kite-maker in West Street, who slashed at me with his stick when I was not quick enough in getting into the gutter to give him room.

We went out by the East Gate because there was more traffic through this than the North. Some of the soldiers on guard were drunk and singing. I looked back when we were outside, half dreading that my father's head would still be spiked above it, but it had been taken down. I did not look back after that.

The baggage train of the Romsey army had already been taken into the city. The Contest Field was empty but scuffed and muddied by their occupation. I thought of my own day of glory there and of that last charge against Edmund which had won me the jeweled sword. It hung in my room in the palace now: I wondered who would get it.

I had asked Ezzard if I could say good-by to Edmund but had not been surprised that he refused. I had not even seen Martin again after he left me with the Seer. Already I might have been missed from the palace and word gone out to find me. I wondered what Edmund would think when it was known, as it must be soon enough, that Ezzard and I were both gone. That, having refused his offer to flee with me, I had run for aid to the Spirits, still hoping they would win me my inheritance? I would have liked to be able to tell him it was not so. But it did not really matter. Nothing mattered. It started to rain again. That didn't matter either.