by Jo Walton
Kerys glanced towards the walls. “So many of them,” she said, with a slight shudder. Morien moved to her and put his arm around her; she nestled towards him. “Why have they come?”
“Chanerig ap Thurrig has driven their gods out of the land, and they have come here.” I tried to think of something good to say about them and remembered things I had been told. “They are barbarous, true, as we were before the Vincans came, but they worship our high gods and they can learn the ways of civilization.” All of this somehow fell into an awkward silence, and I looked around to see why. My eyes came to rest on the white pebble firmly in the center of Daldaf’s chest. He looked as if he had swallowed a slug. I wanted to laugh until I glanced at Kerys, who fished under her armor and pulled out a matching pebble.
I caught Morien’s eye over her head, he wriggled uncomfortably. “I have talked to the priests, but I have not taken the pebble,” he said. “I have responsibilities to the land, and—”
“And I have not permitted it,” said Veniva, decisively. “It would be a terrible thing to go against tradition, even if the powers of the land willed it wholly, as they may have done in Munew and Tir Isarnagiri, but they do not here.”
“The people—” began Morien, sounding as if he was repeating an old argument.
“Many of the people, yes,” said Veniva, very firmly indeed. “Not all of them by any means, even in the town, and very few of them in the countryside.” She looked at me and laughed. “You look appalled, Sulien,” she said. “They call me the last of the Vincans, and had not thought you would be the last of my children to stand up for tradition beside me. It hurt me very much when Aurien gave way to Father Cinwil’s persuasion, and I thought you would have felt the same out there where the King and so many prefer the White God.”
“No,” I said, quietly, and then more loudly so that others could hear. “The High King compels nobody, and my heart has never changed on such things.” I was not accustomed to have my mother look at me approvingly. I felt moved almost to tears.
“We have had this out before,” said Kerys gently, but her hand was still on her pebble. “No doubt we will again, but there is an urgent matter to decide, and if we are to talk about our various faiths then I really must insist we go inside and sit down, for we will still be here when night finds us, and maybe still when dawn follows night, as we did when Marchel was here.”
“Let us leave matters of the gods then,” I said, “and consider the Isarnagans, who are waiting for us.”
“As you have left me so little choice I will come and bargain with them,” said Morien. “Have you promised them anything else?”
I shook my head. “They were asking for seed crops, but I did not know if you could spare them.”
“Can they pay?” asked Daldaf, hopefully.
Veniva laughed. “If they can’t pay now, they can pay next year. If we can gather it without being killed in the fields we have no shortage of harvest. Let them pay us back threefold next winter; our farmers will not grudge that at all. And tell them that all their trade must go through Derwen; it will have to in any case, Dun Morr is too far upstream to be a port and there are no good harbors in the west. Add that we will tax all their trade that passes through, just a little. Otherwise I suppose they will pay taxes like anyone else?”
“I suppose,” I said. “Morien, do you think it would be a good idea if Mother came out and spoke to them, too?”
Kerys and Daldaf would have come, too, but Veniva persuaded them they should stay and prepare a meal for when the negotiations were complete. She seemed to draw energy from the crisis, or perhaps from having something to do that was different from sitting and waiting.
The three of us walked out of the gates together. The people of Derwen cheered us all. Garian and my heralds looked a little relieved to see me coming back. I sent a message to Emlin that the ala could relax a little as he saw fit and that all was going well. Then I made the introductions and we all sat down on the grass. Lew and Morien scowled at each other. Emer and Veniva smiled graciously.
It wasn’t land or taxes that proved difficult. Veniva and Emer between them managed to smooth away the difficulties and get the men agreeing. I think I must have nodded off for a moment while they were discussing details of crops and taxes, because I came awake blinking with Morien yelling at Lew.
“We could if they wanted to move!”
“Don’t your farmers do what their lord tells them?” Lew demanded.
I rubbed my eyes and drew breath to answer this before Morien exploded, but he replied quite quietly. “They have a choice, too. If I ordered it, they would move, but where is the need to order these people to leave the land of their ancestors if they do not want to. I don’t know how it is in your island, but here we consider farmers to be people.” The two men stared at each other, and I almost thought they would start to snort like stallions establishing their positions.
Emer put her hand on Lew’s arm as he was drawing breath to retort, and spoke before he could. “Of course they’re people,” she said, gently. “That isn’t disputed. It’s just whether they would move.”
“If they want to move I’ll give them different land, I can do that easily enough,” said Morien, a little more calmly. “There is good land to north of here, and up near Nant Gefalion. But if they don’t want to move, I don’t see why they should be forced.”
“Because you offered me empty land, or at least, Sulien ap Gwien did!” burst out Lew, before Emer could stop him again. They all looked at me. Morien looked very angry. I swallowed.
“There really aren’t many of them,” I said. “Why can’t they stay where they are?”
“Why indeed?” asked Emer. “We came through those lands and saw very little sign of settlement at all; there would be no need to throw anyone out to make room for all our people.”
“I suppose they could stay,” said Lew, grudgingly.
“Whose responsibility would they be?” Morien asked. “They’re my people. I can’t abandon them.”
“They’ll still be your people, and so will Lew’s people,” said Veniva. “The land is yours, too, and you are giving that into his keeping, you will still be the lord even though they govern themselves.”
“Within that land I will rule,” said Lew, frowning.
“Yes, we have agreed all that,” said Emer.
“If they want to come closer to Derwen and have land here, they can do that; if they want to stay they will come under your rule like your people, but you must be fair to them and judge between them equally with your own people,” said Morien, sternly. Lew raised his chin in agreement. I noticed Veniva, beside me, give a tiny sigh of relief.
That was the last of the details—after that there was only the oathtaking. It was decided that enough blood had been spilled in the fighting, especially with Emer’s wounded arm, that no more was necessary. So we gathered as many of the ala and the Isarnagans and the people of Derwen as could stand around to witness. I witnessed for the High King, with Emlin beside me. Morien called on the gods to hear him, and Lew swore to Morien the same oath Morien had sworn to Urdo, and Morien raised him up and swore to keep him as he deserved. A great cheer went up from everyone, and people who had been fighting that morning were embracing now. I sent the ala to their barracks in the town, and they didn’t seem in the least sorry to go. I expect they were all as tired as I was.
27
By the bright wands of the willow
that grows by Lake Talog
tell me if she cares for me.
By the sweet nuts of the hazel
that grows by the Holy Well
tell me if she will relent towards me.
By the tenacious roots of the rowan
that grows on the slopes of Brin Crag
tell me if she will come back to me.
By the spreading branches of the oak
that grows near Caer Asgor
tell me what weapon will heal the wound in my heart?
—Anei
rin ap Erbin, “The Woman of Wenlad”
I sent messengers at once to Caer Gloran and to Caer Tanaga. Then I fell asleep in the bath while Kerys was still wringing her hands over my battle scars. I slept for just long enough to feel terrible when I went down into the hall. I got myself a cup of cider and sat in the window seat sipping it and watching. The oil lamps were lit, giving everything a luxurious glow. There were Isarnagans there and people from the ala as well as the town-folk. I was glad it had not been my task to decide who to ask into the hall tonight. Daldaf was moving around with the welcome cup. This time he greeted me as a member of the family. Veniva seemed very occupied with preparations for the feast; she kept going through to the kitchen. Kerys and Morien were dancing together smoothly. Watching them, I thought they were probably well suited to each other. She looked much more natural in a green-and-gold embroidered overdress than she had in armor. She really was very unlike her sister Enid, as unlike as I was to Aurien. Poor Enid had wanted to be a hero and had died in an ambush. If she had lived what would she have become? Kerys smiled and turned and bowed to Morien as the dance came to an end, then she let puffing old Lew lead her out to the next one. She was quite deft at dodging Lew’s feet. His moustache waved about as he spoke to her. Morien had got the better of the exchange, for even with her arm bound up Emer was a graceful dancer.
I had come in with no intention of dancing. Indeed if I could have gone straight to bed from the bathhouse without it being a great impoliteness I would have done so. I enjoyed dancing well enough on winter evenings when we had been penned inside all day, but today I was too tired. Yet when Duncan, my old arms master, came up and asked me to dance, I agreed as quickly as if I had been given an order. He looked older, and what sparse threads of his hair were left were iron grey. I wondered for the first time how old he was. He still moved like a fighter, and he had a scrape on his cheek that must have come from something hitting his helmet hard the day before. He had been my first teacher, and it was his instruction from the time I was five years old that had made me a warrior.
He smiled at me as we went out into the middle of the floor. The music was loud enough that we could talk quietly without much chance of anyone hearing us.
“You haven’t changed much,” he said. “Oh, you’re taller and broader across the shoulders, and a lot more sure of yourself, but I daresay you still lead to the right.”
I laughed. “Indeed I do not, for Osvran ap Usteg beat that out of me when we were training with double-weighted swords. Every time I did it he got me with the flat, and he didn’t pull his blow either. I had bruises all down my side until I eventually broke the habit. Then when ap Thurrig of the ships taught us Malmish grappling I finally managed to learn not to signal what I was going to do.”
“Good,” said Duncan, “Useful. And you have done well. I am proud to say my pupil is the Emperor’s own Praefecto. I heard that you even carried his standard in the great victory at Foreth Hill. All of you in the alae deserve great praise. I never thought to see the land united and our people winning victories.”
“I know,” I said. “It was the same for me when I was younger, it seemed as if the world had come to an end and there was only a little space before everything fell in on us.”
He raised his chin, giving the dancing only a small part of his attention. “It was so all my life, all we could hope for was to shore up the ruin for a little while, the thought of rebuilding was more than we could imagine. I never thought to see the peace of Vinca come again.”
“Urdo’s Peace is not the peace of Vinca,” I said, raising my voice a little, for we were dancing away from each other. “It is a new thing, he says, so new we must all learn what it is.”
Duncan shook his head a little and did not speak until we were close together again. “The young always think they are the first to discover anything,” he said. “Those of us who are older know well enough what peace is.” He softened a little. “You armigers have done very well to win it, whatever you call it.”
“Well, it is not just the alae. There would have been no alae without Urdo, he gave us hope and heart.”
“That is a lot for one person to do,” Duncan said, swinging me expertly.
“We have all helped, but there would have been nothing without his vision,” I insisted.
“I suppose that is what it is to be a real king,” Duncan said, “being able to inspire your people to fight for the land.” His dark eyes were sad. I remembered what I had learned from Alfwin when he joined us. I wondered if anyone else knew. There were many fleeing from the east in those years, from Tevin and Aylsfa and Cennet. There had been no reason for us to guess that Duncan had once been the Lord of Caer Lind.
“Why did you leave Tevin?” I asked.
Duncan glanced at me sharply. “Why, I was never in Tevin,” he said. “Even the name of my country is lost to the Jarns.”
“Valentia,” I said, recalling Enid bending over an old map in the rain, before Caer Lind.
Duncan smiled. “You haven’t lost that amazing memory you had as a child,” he said.
“I do think of it as Tevin,” I admitted.
“Everything was lost,” he said, seriously. “My wife and sons had died in the fighting. There was no doubt we were losing everywhere. Rudwen was all that was left. I left Caer Lind so that she might have a little space to grow up.”
He was not looking at me, but over my shoulder, his face was set. “She did grow up,” I said, inadequately. She was only twenty-two when she died fighting the raiders who attacked Derwen.
“How did you know I was Lord of Valentia?” Duncan asked. “I had not known Gwien had told anyone.”
“He didn’t tell me,” I said. “Alfwin Cellasson told me how they took Caer Lind, and I thought it too much chance that there should be two men fleeing on piebald greathorses with little girls set before them.”
Duncan smiled sadly, looking very old. “Well, then it makes it easier to ask you. I have given good service to your family for nearly twenty-five years now. Do you think your Urdo would give me my land back?”
I choked, missed a step, trod on Duncan’s foot, and would have fallen and probably, knocked Flerian over if Duncan hadn’t caught my arm and steadied me. As it was, Flerian gave me a puzzled look, and I shrugged an apology. Then I looked back at Duncan. He looked almost as if he were holding his breath. How could he think for an instant that Urdo would do such a thing? He and his people had abandoned the land and broken the ties with it, and the land had accepted Cella and the Jarnsmen instead. In any case he could hardly take up any lordship. He must be past sixty, maybe older, and all his children were dead. His only living nephew was Flavien ap Borthas, who as lord of Tinala could not be his heir. Even if Alfwin hadn’t existed and the whole of Tevin had been empty for settlement, he had no people; no king could have thought of giving it to him. I had never thought Duncan a fool to even consider such a thing. There wasn’t any kind thing to say, and trying to soften it would probably have made it worse. “No,” I said, as soon as I had breath enough. “I don’t think there is any chance of that at all. You left the land, and so did all your folk.”
“We were forced to flee,” said Duncan, stiffly. “But now that it is empty of his enemies the Emperor could give it back, if he chose.”
I thought of Alfwin. I thought of the Jarnish hamlet where the farmers had given us corn and told us that Ohtar had come down to fight us. I remembered the ruinous state of Caer Lind when I had been besieged in it. “It is empty no longer,” I said, as calmly as I could. “And the gods of the land accepted the Jarnsmen, with their king Cella, and his son Alfwin after him. Alfwin has been fighting on our side all through the War. They are not enemies but allies.”
“He is Emperor, he raised the purple banner, he could—” Duncan began, very stiffly
I interrupted. “If the Emperor of Vinca had wished to do such a thing, maybe it would have been possible, even though you have no heirs and no people. But Urdo is not Emperor of
Vinca, and not a tyrant who can do whatever he pleases.” My mind went back to the moment on top of Foreth when Urdo had given his name and titles before the gods. “He is High King of the Island of Tir Tanagiri by right of birth, by right of conquest, and by right of election of all principalities. His Peace is something we are all making.”
The dance came to an end, and we bowed to each other very formally, then walked back towards the window where I had been sitting.
“You are right that it isn’t Vincan times come again,” Duncan said, looking out into the night. “Have you told your mother so?”
“I think she knows,” I said, as gently as I could. “She was calling herself the last of the Vincans this afternoon, accepting that. She knows this is a new age.”
“I do not think I am the only person who will need reminding,” said Duncan, looking very remote. “And if it is a new world indeed that you youngsters are building then you should have told those who thought they were fighting beside you to restore the world of our young days.”
I knew well enough that it was nearly sixty years since the last Vincan legion had left Tir Tanagiri and that Duncan’s young days had been spent in civil wars as well as fending off the Jarnsmen. I could hardly believe he had really hoped to be given his land back again just like that, when he had abandoned it, and had no heir, and after twenty-five years. I couldn’t think of anything at all to say. Fortunately, Lew came up just then. Duncan excused himself to go and help Veniva. Lew was beaming broadly. I suppose he did have a lot to be cheerful about. He was drinking from a smooth red Vincan cup, a particular treasure of my mother’s. I hoped he would not break it. I glanced around for Emer, she was part of a group on the other side of the room that included Morien, Daldaf, and her Isarnagan lover.
“Must I go to Caer Tanaga to find my brother Urdo, or will he be coming here soon?” Lew asked, after we had both dispensed with friendly greetings. Calling Urdo his brother seemed a bit much to me, for a wife’s sister’s husband he had never met.
