by Jo Walton
“Ohtar gave me a ship to come south, and south I came to Aylsfa. I spoke to Ayl and he gave me soft words and said he would help me and with me make alliance with Urdo. Yet we fled from him last night, for my niece had a dream warning her that he meant to hand us over to Sweyn when he could and win Sweyn’s favor.”
“Last night?” I said, looking at Marchel. I could see that she was also calculating the places where Ayl might have been last night that were close enough.
“You know this land better,” she said to me. At the same time she gave me the hand sign we use in the ala to say that I should take charge of the affair and do what I thought right.
“I reached here at noon,” said Alfwin, courteously ignoring our exchange and saying the most he could without breaking guest-friendship with Ayl. Ayl had made no move against him, whatever his intentions may have been. “The rest you know. I think there are many in Tevin and indeed in Aylsfa and Bereich who will rally to my banner if I raise it beside the High King Urdo. Many do not love Sweyn.”
“I think Urdo will be very pleased with this news,” I said, and it was in many ways extremely good news for us. “And I have little doubt he will welcome you. For my part I will be proud to fight beside you.”
“And I,” said Marchel, after a moment’s hesitation. “But will you swear by the White God when you swear to Urdo, Alfwin?”
“I will let him hold my oath, as he will hold any man’s,” said Alfwin, pleasantly.
“It is not necessary to do more, or even to do that, for I swore by the gods of my people when I swore, and so do many of the nobly born in the ala,” I said. Marchel glowered at me.
“None have sworn by the heathen gods of Jarnholme,” she said, with the fervor of a convert, when I knew perfectly well that although her brother was an exceedingly holy monk, her father’s favorite expletive was “Thunderer box your ears.” I laughed.
“It is in the sincerity of the oath and the oathtaker that matters,” I said. “There have been Jarnish pirates who swore by gods not their own and broke their word, which is why the custom is to let the White God hold the oath. Alfwin is willing to do that. That is enough.” Marchel was still looking furiously at me, and a spirit of mischief took my tongue, following on all Alfwin’s Jarnish talk. “If he wanted to swear by his Lord Tew, I do not see that there would be any harm in it.”
“Like my father, I do not wish to desert my gods,” said Alfwin sensibly.
“Nor need you,” said Elenn, who all this time had sat still, smiling just a little. “But Marchel, you must tell me about this White God of yours. I have heard very little about him for his priests have scarce gone to Tir Isarnagiri.”
Some while later I escaped, leaving them engrossed in stories of the White God’s doings. I took Alfwin with me, and told ap Rhun to find somewhere to house Alfwin and his people. Then I went to the barracks and gave orders to three of the pennons of Marchel’s ala to patrol along the river because Ayl might be near and intending to cross. Then I went to my own bed and slept deep and sound until morning.
19
New folds in the knotwork, turning, returning,
What news from the west?
Is the land aflame, is the kingdom burning?
Should we stir from our rest?
In the cold gray dusk, the red-cloaks riding,
What news from the south?
Are they safe, do you know, do you bring us tiding?
What word in your mouth?
The sky hangs heavy, dark in the morning,
What news from the north?
Have you come to summon and bring us warning?
Should we venture forth?
The beacon flares, and the riders calling
There is news from the east!
To horse! To arms! The hoofbeats falling
and the crows will feast.
—Aneirin ap Erbin, “The Messengers”
Emlin came to wake me just after dawn to tell me Urdo was there. Oh, that was just like the War, rarely a full night’s sleep, never knowing who or where we were going to fight, always good news and bad news and orders and plans and trouble. We had six wild full years of it, and all those early mornings run together in my mind. I breakfasted with Urdo in his room and explained everything to him. His eyebrow rose a few times, but he said he was pleased with what I had done. He accepted Alfwin Cellasson into his service, as I had known he would. Alfwin swore to Urdo, with the White God holding his oath, which made no ripples. Then he raised his banner. Many Jarns rallied to him as he had said, and we had for the next five years both Jarnish and Isarnagan allied infantry. We learned how to make best use of them. I often wished they were better organized and more able to maneuver. There’s nothing quite so frustrating as waiting for the infantry to come up before you fight.
We narrowly avoided a civil war that first spring. Duke Mardol wrote to Urdo that he would not have risen against him. He added that it made him easier in his mind to hear from Duke Galba. Some of the other kings were also reassured by that timely letter. Penda of Bregheda, for all that he was Borthas’s ancient enemy, took his troops as far as the mountains between Bregheda and Tinala. Urdo sent me up there as soon as he heard of it. Raul and I met him with the ala, ready to fight if it came to it. He passed it all off as a misunderstanding once Raul had convinced him that Flavien was secure in Caer Avroc and the message was a forgery. On that trip I learned to value Raul for more than his skill with numbers and saw why Urdo used him so often in difficult matters of diplomacy. He was wonderful at hearing a remark without offense and replying to it politely with information to make the other person think again. He rarely lost his temper with anyone but Urdo.
I had to speak to Penda myself, for Bran had been his son and my signifer. He was short with me to begin with, but I persisted with him for Bran’s sake until he became gracious and let me tell him how bravely his son had died. I liked the hawk-faced old man, though he was not much like Bran, who was always laughing. I made him smile saying that Bran had pointed out these very hills and said he was always fighting in them. He was kind enough to say that Bran had spoken well of me in his letters home. Later I told him some of the jokes Bran and Geiran had made, and we laughed and wept. We broke bread together that night, which was better than I had expected. Raul even got some supplies out of him before we rode off, and the promise of more. Supplies were the problem all through the long War.
As long as the alae stayed where the lords could feed both armigers and horses, Urdo’s order worked well enough. But when the Jarns pressed us and forced us to be very mobile, food became a perpetual problem. Even if the lords were willing to give it to us when we were not settled on them for their own immediate defense, which was by no means always the case, it was difficult to transport great quantities of food around the country. The seas were highly dangerous because of raiders, the roads were bad anywhere away from the high roads, and there was always the danger of a Jarnish ambush. The danger on the roads and sea made all trading riskier, and many of our patrols seemed to involve running down raiding parties trying to intercept supplies. Near the borders goods and supplies had to have an armed escort or move where they were going at great speed. I remember getting a letter from my mother sometime the next winter, full of the problems they had by land and sea, and on the second page telling me of the birth of Aurien’s first son, another Galba. They called this one Galbian, little Galba, to distinguish him from his father and grandfather.
We fought up and down the border. We had no great defeats, but no great victories either. It was hard to get them to stand and fight if we had enough force to beat them, and if they could get past us they could ravage our farmland and retreat. We fought continuously, with only the occasional truce to gather the harvest or in the dead of winter. We ourselves farmed whenever we could, planting a turnip crop around the stockaded forts we built. Some of the armigers resented doing this work, and not only those who were noble-born. To hear them talk I wondered if some of them had
taken oath precisely to avoid farming. I wouldn’t have blamed them if they had, but the horses had to eat or they could not have the strength to fight or be ridden long. We used captured Jarnish prisoners to do the work whenever we could, and some complained about that as well, saying we shouldn’t let the Jarns at the land.
Urdo moved the alae where they could do most good, and moved himself with them. The King’s Own moved with him, always in the thick of the struggle. We raided and patrolled and fought beside Angas up on the borders of Bereich, we fought often and always in Tinala, we fought up and down the long border of Aylsfa. We stopped in Caer Rangor for the night now and then, though Marchel and ap Meneth were both based there all the time and there was scarcely room for us to crowd in. We even fought right down in the southeast, in Cennet, when Sweyn brought many men around the coast in ships and tried to take the coast by storm. I thought it a holiday to fight from Caer Tanaga with hot running water and a chance to see Garah. It was the only place where I felt safe when I took my boots off. There were always two alae in Caer Tanaga, all through the War.
Garah was stationed there full-time: she and Glyn were working hard organizing the distribution of food and alae across the country. She also worked with Dalmer coordinating the alae messengers and collecting rumor and information to piece together a whole picture of what was happening in the country. This news she sent to Urdo, who valued it greatly. Official news of victories and defeats and how the War was going she sent out regularly to all the alae and to the allied kings. They did well. We had thin times, but neither people nor horses ever quite starved, and news and intelligence mostly arrived where it was needed. We built depots and forts in enemy land to store supplies, and garrisoned them with infantry and swift messengers.
Commanding an ala was different from commanding a pennon. It was lonelier. There were more people to care about and so it was more difficult to know them all as people. I tried my best. Ap Erbin was my tribuno, my second-in-command. Elidir ap Nodol was my signaler and banner bearer, taking poor Indeg’s place. She was always close beside me, and though I trusted her and relied on her, she was always a little in awe of me and I could never quite relax with her. Two years after the War began she married Grugin ap Drust, my trumpeter, and they shared a tent. There were always messengers near me, too, though they came and went too quickly for me to grow very attached to them. Losing my armigers in battle always came very hard. We still trained whenever we had the chance, but everything was more in earnest now. I fretted that I would never be a good praefecto, until I talked to Angas about it, and he said that he felt the same and he knew that Osvran had. He added that I should try being a king if I wanted to know what it meant to be lonely in a crowd.
There was little enough time for it, and there were always good times. A good charge could always lighten my spirits. Then there would be times with old friends, drinking with Masarn and ap Erbin or with Galba or Angas or Thurrig as the chances of the War brought us together. And sometimes I would sit and talk with Urdo around a campfire, discussing the land, or the law code he would write in the Peace. Even as he directed the War and put all his strength into it, Urdo never lost sight of the Peace he would build. I eventually made friends with Alfwin Cellasson, once he stopped thinking I was half a demon. After a year or so he asked me outright if I worshiped the Lord of the Slain. I think he was relieved to hear I kept to the faith of my fathers. Yet if the Lord of the Slain rejoices to see brave warriors killed in battle I did him good service in those years. But then so did we all, including Alfwin, for all that his prayers were foremost to Tew.
There are so many things to remember of that time. Garah, in Caer Tanaga, delighted because Guthrum and Ninian had sent the whole amount of their taxes unexpectedly and there would be food. Elenn, hearing this, saying she must send them a present and finding from the treasure rooms a swan of blown glass and wrought silver, work from distant Lossia in time long gone by. Thurrig telling me how he had beaten six ships at sea, slapping his thigh and laughing “Son of the Shore! I had no idea where they were until we ran into them! Then our axes bit.” Alfwin almost exploding at the idea that his niece Alswith wanted to train as an armiger, and Elenn very gently persuading him. Riding like the Wild Hunt all night to sing the Midwinter Chant outside Ayl’s hall at dawn and riding away again, still singing, holding up torches and blowing war horns. The bards sing of how brave that was. They never mention how silly we were, nor how cold. Urdo quarreling with King Cinon at Caer Rangor, after the battle where the Jarns had nearly taken the city. Cinon was complaining about Urdo taxing the Jarnish hamlets instead of burning them. “You’re treating them as if they have a right to be there. They’re stealing my land!” Urdo slammed his hand down on the table and said loudly in a ringing voice “The problem is not that we do not have enough land!” Indeed, riding over it day after day it sometimes seemed that we had too much of it. Always we went to bed weary and woke too early.
The War went on, sometimes well, sometimes badly, and the joys and sorrows of the War filled my horizon until I almost forgot that there had been any before or could be any after. We were too well matched and could not find a way through the endless fighting to any lasting victory.
In the fifth year of the War Urdo was stupidly wounded in a skirmish when we fell on a raiding party that was larger than we expected. A thrown ax got through to the king when we were riding steadily down on them. There’s nothing to do when that happens but keep on riding towards them and hope it will miss. This one hit and went through the armor on his thigh. We were not far from Thansethan. We fell back to the monastery by night to rest. It was the first time I had been there since I fled with Beauty and Garah. The muddy rutted track from the highroad to the stable gate was worn deeper. Otherwise, it seemed little changed, and my heart sank as I heard the bell ringing for a prayer as we rode up. Urdo begged admittance, for nobody could command the monks here in their stronghold. The gates opened to us, and we went inside.
We had an awkward reception. Father Gerthmol said nothing to me but touched his pebble every time he looked at me. Urdo was not badly hurt, but he had lost blood. He looked horribly pale; it worried me to see him like that. He needed rest and water and food—I knew it would only be gruel, but hot food would be better than any charms. The place also had good water in quantity, which he needed. The thing he needed least was the priests fussing, but I knew that was inevitable. He sent me away once he was settled in a guest room. He said that he could deal with Father Gerthmol best alone, and he knew I had people to see here.
I went off, feeling shy, to look for my son Darien. It was summer. I had to count it up on my fingers. He would be nine years old. I thought I ought to find Arvlid first. Then I thought I ought to check on the horses. I knew this for cowardice, but I thought that if I saw Starlight safe and sound. I would have courage to seek him after. I did not at all know what I could say to him. The stables were full and quiet, the horses had been cleaned and watered and fed. There was plenty of food. Thansethan was one of the places where food was stored for us, to be collected or sent out where it was needed. There were a few monks moving about, and here and there armigers seeing to their horses. Grugin raised a hand to me as I passed him grooming his horse. Starlight was down at the end, where it was quiet. Darien was in her stall with her.
I wondered how he had known she was my horse, and that I would be coming to see her. I did not have a moment’s doubt as to who he was, even though he had only been two months old when I had last seen him. He had a look of my brother Darien, though his coloring was closer to Jarnish. He was tall, for a nine-year-old. He did not look much like his father, except for his winter-sea eyes. He was wearing brown homespun wool, like all the children of the monastery, and he had a pebble around his neck. He was talking softly to Starlight, who had put her head down to his hand. He was giving her an apple. She liked him. She was good-tempered and liked most people. I was glad he knew how to treat horses.
I came up behind him and stood
there for a moment. “You found my horse,” I said, and cleared my throat.
“Yes, sir,” he said, turning. He looked up at me calmly, meeting my eyes. I wondered for a moment if giving him Darien’s name, I had given him Darien’s soul, he looked so like him. Such things have happened. “Is she your horse then? I thought she must be the High King’s horse, because she is the most beautiful.” When he said this I felt strange inside. He had come to Starlight because Starlight was beautiful. He did not know me after all, and I would have to tell him.
“She is the daughter of one of the High King’s horses,” I said, and my voice came out evenly though my heart was thumping so loudly I was afraid he might hear it. “Her name is Starlight, and her mother’s name is Twilight. Twilight isn’t here, she’s at Caer Tanaga, she’s in foal this year. Urdo’s riding Prancer, who is in the stall just across there.” I pointed, and he squirmed out of Starlight’s stall to look.
“She’s a good horse, too, but she’s not as beautiful as your Starlight.” Prancer was Urdo’s favorite greathorse that year. She was Twilight’s daughter by Apple, a seven-year-old then. She was almost as dark as Apple had been but not so broad-chested, and a sweet-tempered horse like her sister. Although Urdo always disagreed, I thought she did not quite have Starlight’s grace.
“I think so, too,” I said. “So you’re a good judge of horses?” He flushed. With his pale skin it was extremely obvious.
“I like horses,” he said, a little defensively. “They’re the best thing here.”
