by Jo Walton
There is no time, and all time, charging behind a line of lowered lances towards a line of trained men who will try their best to stand firm and kill you. Even with the music bearing me up there was time to think, to remember other charges, the hours of practice it takes for people and horses to do this, so close. I remembered Duncan telling me that cavalry must keep moving and never hesitate and Angas yelling at me to relax enough for the horse to do its share. Each pounding step brought us closer and closer, the lances held light as moonbeams pushing points as sure and deadly as doom. Before us stood the Jarnsmen, their faces drawn and ready and waiting, some smiling, some almost bored, many concerned, questioning, very few of them afraid. I remembered Caer Lind, where we had twice broken on their shield wall. They threw their small axes and spears, but we were going too fast for them to hit many of us. Our line curved out slightly to take them as we wanted to. I was sorry that this time I couldn’t carry a lance in the front line and be the first to hit them. But I had the banner, and the place of honor. My king was beside me and my friends were around me and my horse was under me. My mouth was open and I was singing, or calling out a battle cry, or screaming. They tell me I sometimes scream in battle, though I do not take notice of it.
A great howl rose from the Jarns on the left. It was the Bereichers all yelling together in the hope of putting Luth off his stride. Then there was no more time to think. We reached the Jarnish shield wall with a shock but no pause. It was strange to see them go over like that, two long lines of men with locked shields just gone under the impact of lances and the weight of the horses. If they hadn’t realized as we galloped towards them, then they never had time to realize we weren’t thirsty and exhausted before they were down. The line broke, and they were moving back. It was far from the end, for though they fell back they did not flee but regrouped and stood firm for a while with desperate discipline. They were a worthy enemy and no cowards, all king’s men. Their shields were almost no protection against the reach of a lance or a cavalry sword, yet they stood firm. “You will feast with your gods tonight!” I heard myself shouting as I struck out with my sword. Most of those who had been charging in front of me were still using their lances. Then a few Jarnsmen started to run away. They fell before me, and I kept moving always, staying near Urdo, using Glimmer’s weight against them.
Everything was very clear. We had spread out a little. There was a small clump of Jarnsmen ahead of us, around Ayl. I saw the red eyes of the twisted snakes in the gold ring on Ayl’s arm. I had broken bread with him, so I aimed a cut at the man next to him, who went down. Urdo smacked Ayl with the flat of his shining sword as Prancer shouldered into him, then Ayl was sitting in the mud and I kept on. I was laughing.
They were breaking around us like a wave. Glimmer reared up to kick a spearman in the head. For some reason the little details of the horse armor as he moved engraved themselves on my mind, the pattern of holes in the leather that holds the plates. Then Urdo and I were cut off among a thick press of Jarns coming in to protect their king. Alswith brought Masarn’s pennon thundering in to save us. I learned later she had snatched up the signifer’s banner when he fell. Masarn grinned at me, his teeth showing very white against his skin as he thundered past.
There was no time to thank them then, for the Jarnish horsemen came up behind us. They were brave, for they had lost already, and they must have known it. They did not fight as if they knew it. They kept on very fiercely, though they did not really understand how to fight from horseback. They did better than they had at Caer Lind. They killed several of us, even after I had brought my pennon back together around the king. I saw one of them unhorse Gwair Aderyn. Once he was down and stunned a spearman killed him. I fought with them for some time. I wished I had my shield instead of the banner pole. I doubt the man I thumped with the end of it much appreciated the honor done to him. I needed all my skill at riding to manage without a shield. It felt strange to fight a mounted opponent. It occurred to me even then that if they had greathorses it would be an equal fight, and the part of my head that loves fighting wanted to practice fighting my friends so I could learn the way of it.
Then it was over. They turned to flee, but few of them could reach the trees—the river was behind them. Suddenly Marchel was there, coming out of the edge of the trees beyond the river, cutting off their retreat to the ships. I blinked and wiped sweat out of my eyes. I had no idea where she had come from—I later learned that she had been coming up through the trees and kept her improvised ala still until she could see where she would do most good. Furious battle immediately began to rage around the ships. But not enough Jarns could get away to re-form. They fought on in little knots around wagons and copses, wherever they could rally with their backs to something solid. If they stood in the open we could just roll over them. Those with their backs to something could fight on until we could bring up two pennons and take them from two angles. The only large group of Jarns who were standing firm were Ohtar’s men. They had been backed towards the river and did not have anywhere they could possibly retreat without getting their feet wet. But they had drawn themselves up in something like a line. I could see Ohtar himself under his walrus banner, fighting furiously.
Urdo ordered Grugin to blow the signal for the spare horses to be brought up. I was glad to get on Beauty’s back and let them lead poor tired Glimmer away. I hopped across, I didn’t want to dismount and bring the banner down near the ground. We re-formed, and I looked to where Marchel was fighting. Ap Meneth was coming up to support her. There was no sign of Galba. Luth and Cadraith were still fiercely engaged with Ohtar. I looked at Urdo. There was blood running off his new sword. There were no live Jarnsmen anywhere close.
“Signal Luth and Cadraith to rally,” he said to Grugin. “We will form up and charge them again from here: there’s room to get up to speed. We should have a five-ala charge.” Grugin blew the signal. I sent three pennons out to shield the people changing horses in case Ohtar rushed forward to try to catch them off-balance. The fallen were everywhere, and the smell of blood and butchery hung around them. It seemed impossible that we should have killed five or six thousand men, but that was what they said afterwards. They said that nine hundred and sixty of them fell in that first charge. We lost only fifty, though two of them were praefectos. They had learned to aim at our white cloaks. We lost also a hundred and eighty-two horses, and more than twice that many were wounded. Many armigers were wounded, too, and even more Jarnsmen. Hardly a Jarn left the field that day without some blood spilled to remember the Battle of Foreth Hill.
As Luth and Cadraith were getting ready, a messenger came to us from Galba’s ala. There were tears on her face. “Galba ap Galba is dead,” she said. “We are going to carry him back to safety. He killed Sweyn.”
“We will come over,” said Urdo. I followed him, and my pennon followed me. It was not far. The whole ala would have trailed behind us, but I realized in time and signaled to ap Erbin to keep them ready between us and the Jarnsmen.
Galba had killed Sweyn in a way which one often hears mentioned in songs and rarely sees. His lance had gone through Sweyn’s teeth and out of the back of his head. It was sticking straight upright in the ground, nailing Sweyn down. Galba himself lay nearby, some of his armigers around him. They were all weeping, Galba had been very well loved by his troops. One of them was holding his mare, Eagle, half sister to my long-lost Banner. A thrown spear had taken him in the chest, straight through the heart. I doubt he had lived minutes after he had killed Sweyn. I hope it was long enough to know what he had done. Absurdly, as they lifted his body onto a shield and began to carry it away, one arm dangling down, I thought of how I had danced with him on his wedding night. The expression on his face was the same, tolerant, slightly impatient, as if there were something he’d much rather be doing. If he could have spoken, he’d have asked me what was so urgent it couldn’t wait. Even through that battle music I knew a time would come when I could grieve very much for Galba, and that my grief
would be a thin shadow of the grief my sister Aurien would feel, and his father the old Duke, and his young sons.
Urdo drew off his helmet and let loose his hair as a sign of respect. I did the same. My hair was still short from mourning my father, barely reaching my shoulders, a year’s growth. I started to put my helmet back on as they carried Galba away. There was no time to mourn yet. I looked over to where Ohtar was still standing out. He had two or three thousand men around him. It didn’t look like very many, after this morning.
A messenger arrived from Marchel. She had killed or driven in those trying for the boats and was coming back with ap Meneth to remount and put her ala back together. In front of us the other five ala were re-formed and ready again. Many were drinking from their waterskins and looking brighter and much more refreshed. I did the same myself.
“Shall we wait for Marchel?” I asked as we started to ride back towards my ala, leaving Sweyn’s body behind us on the ground.
“No. They can come up behind our line and remount, but I think they can stay in reserve. They must be exhausted,” Urdo said.
“Then we use the five who are ready? It’s enough. Does Galba or Gwair’s ala need anyone to lead? I can spare ap Erbin if need be.”
“Not today.” Urdo was squinting off towards the Jarnish lines. “Ap Amren has Gwair’s ala well in hand, and Emlin ap Trivan has Galba’s. I think I will promote ap Erbin soon, though, he’s capable and ready for it. And it will please his uncle.”
“Will we charge straight away?” I asked.
“Yes—No, look. I think they will surrender,” Urdo said. He gestured with his sword, which was shining clean again. Ayl and Ohtar were standing out of their line, talking with a small group of others. Even as Urdo spoke they took off their helmets, gave their weapons to the men with them, and began the long walk across the space towards where our alae were drawn up, empty except for the bodies of their companions. The two kings walked in front, the little cluster of followers, less than a dozen men, straggled a little way behind. Some of them were limping.
We waited for a moment, then Urdo looked over at me and raised an eyebrow. “I ought to call Raul up, but he’s way back out of the way with the supply train. Shall we ride forward to meet them?” I grinned, and we rode slowly forward, the lines opening before us, until we came almost up to the kings, out on the trampled bloody grass. When Urdo reined in I stopped beside him, shifted my sword in my hand, and concentrated on the Jarnish kings. I was ready to defend my lord at any moment if they tried treachery. Unlike Urdo’s, my sword still showed signs of the hard work it had been put to.
“Truce!” called Ayl, as they came nearer. There was mud and blood on his armor, and he had a great swelling bruise on the side of his head. Ohtar’s great bearskin cloak had a sword slash in the shoulder, and when he moved I saw a wound beneath it.
“No,” Urdo said, in their language. Ayl went very white. Ohtar looked up at the sky and touched his hand to the bear’s head on his cloak. Then Urdo went on. “I seek peace, peace for the land. I do not wish to make a truce with you for a year, and then fight again. I know you are honorable men, and you will keep your word. If you swore not to fight me before next year’s harvest, you would not, but the next winter we would see raids from your people and soon again there would be war between us and the shield-splintering din of battle. I do not want you to swear a truce. I want you to swear to the Peace. Peace, between us, and between our peoples. You hold your lands, but within the law, under the Peace, as part of my island. I do not ask this for a year, and not for all time, but for our time, our own lives that we can swear for. But I would have peace between your folk and mine in this time, for a generation, while we live, that we will all live under the law.”
“Whose law?” Ayl frowned up into my lord’s face, speaking harshly, while the sun glinted on the huge barbaric goldwork of his armrings. When Urdo spoke again it is as if he knew by Ayl’s words his battle was won, and his voice was firm and strong. It held hope and a wild fierce joy.
“You will keep your laws and your borders and we will keep ours, and if there is a dispute between your people and ours, or your laws and ours, then it will be judged by kings of both people. And your folk will keep the land peace, and the market peace.”
The two kings looked at each other, and the music slowed in my head.
Ohtar cleared his throat. “What of Sweyn?” he asked.
“Sweyn Rognvaldsson lies slain on the field,” Urdo said. “Galba ap Galba slew him, and he, too, is dead.”
“What of his land?” Ayl asked. “What of his kin?”
“I will give Tevin to the rightful king, Alfwin Cellasson,” Urdo said. “And those men of Sweyn’s he will forgive will be his men. Those of Sweyn’s kin who are grown and yet live and will swear to me and to the Peace I will take into the alae, holding them the equal of my own warriors. The alae will protect everyone from the raiders, and we will have a space to know what the Peace is.”
“Aylsfa will have your Peace, if we hold our borders,” Ayl said.
“Bereich will have your Peace,” Ohtar said. “But you must hold by your word for Sweyn’s nephew.”
“I have said we will hold no bloodfeud with Sweyn’s kin,” Urdo said slowly. “Yet before he can be accepted as a brother to my armigers he must answer to me before the law for his involvement in sorcery and his dealings outside the customs of war, him and any man or woman else who does so.”
Ayl looked at me. I raised my chin in agreement. I did not hate all the Jarns, only the raiders. Sweyn’s kin couldn’t be allowed to raise armies and fight against us. Having them in the alae seemed a good solution. Urdo sheathed his sword and jumped down to embrace both men, Ohtar first, then Ayl. The music in my head slowed even more, and the world seemed more solid, less as if I was about to charge again at any moment.
It was then that the Peace began, on the field at Foreth. Afterwards we always counted it so. But then Ohtar turned and brought forward from the group behind the man he was worried about, the man with whom I had just agreed to put away bloodfeud, the man whose name everyone knows I shouted at Caer Lind, Sweyn’s nephew, the raider and rapist Ulf Gunnarsson.
2
THE KING’S LAW
23
Cast out of the homeland, dying nameless,
the renegade, the kinslayer,
ending at last under a stone
cut with strong curses. A hard death
beneath the hooves, on a far hill,
alone and kinless, surrounded by strangers.
—“The Outcast”
Before he had quite come up to us I had thought of nine ways to kill Ulf Gunnarsson. Four of them were not even dishonorable.
Against the line of the river the Jarnish troops were still drawn up waiting, shield to shield. I glanced behind me. Our five alae were mounted and ready, the armigers comfortable on their fresh horses. Ap Erbin sat at the head of my ala, waiting for my signal. A little way ahead of them were Raul, Glyn, and ap Meneth, hovering anxiously with a little clump of messengers. The news that the war was over and that we had made a lasting peace had not yet been announced. They would all have seen Urdo embracing the Jarnish kings, but no trumpet had been blown. If I broke the word Ayl had tricked me into giving, then the battle would start again. I sat still on Beauty’s broad back and kept my drawn sword on my shoulder ready to strike immediately if there was any resistance. I felt no desire to dismount and join the others on the ground.
Ulf came forward slowly. There was no honorable way of killing him that would set him down in the mud beneath Beauty’s hooves right now He had not changed much. His straw-pale hair was shrinking back a little at the temples, but otherwise he was just as I remembered him. He was limping a little although he had no visible wounds. I smiled to think that he was still feeling the thrust I had both given and healed ten years before. He wore a single gold arm-ring on his left arm. He looked swiftly at Ohtar and then at Ayl. Then he took a step towards Urdo and began t
o bend his stiff knee as if he would kneel. Urdo put out a hand to stop him.
“I have said that you must answer to me for your sorcerous dealings,” he said. “That must be done first.” Now for the first time he glanced up at me. I sat as still as I could and looked at him very evenly, not letting my sword waver. He closed his eyes for a moment, drew breath, and looked back to Urdo.
“Lord King,” he said, “I will swear to be true to you, and I shall be true to you, but she sits there with sword drawn. She hates me and means to kill me.”
“And have you given her no reason to hate you?” said Urdo, his voice light and cheerful. “I say if you will serve me, you will first answer to me, to me before the law. What has been done in war I will forgive, but what you did and the evil Morwen ap Avren did must be answered for.” At Morwen’s name Ohtar stepped away from Ulf, leaving him looking very alone. I smiled at him. Ayl happened to be looking at up me. He shuddered and turned to Urdo.
“You said you would forgive what was done in war. Will you be bound in your will by a woman? Or will you make her obey?” Ayl had had the most contact with Urdo of all the Jarn kings, and I think knew him the least well.
“Make her obey? I had rather kill you all.” Not one armiger would have doubted that voice, Urdo’s certain, cheerful, of-course-this-is-possible king’s voice. Certainly Ayl didn’t. He went so pale his eyes showed bruised. I thought then that Urdo was just trying to silence Ayl. Years later I found out he really had meant it.
“I don’t know what cause I have given you to doubt my word, King Ayl,” I said. Ayl shook his head as if to say that he did not do so. I did not give him time to speak. “But if this”—I pointed with the toe of my boot toward Ulf—“will abide by my lord’s justice, then certainly I shall.” I had absolutely no intention of cleaving Ulf into two parts where he stood unless he made a move against Urdo or the other kings. I might well wish he would so I could, but I did not want to tarnish Urdo’s new-minted Peace. Before the law Ulf’s life was three times forfeit. He had killed my brother, he had burned my home, and he had given me whole and unwilling into the hand of a god I had not chosen.
