The King's Peace

by Jo Walton

  “I don’t suppose I could send Ulf Gunnarsson?” I suggested. They all laughed.

  “I’d like to see his face,” Garah said.

  “He can’t stop seeing every single Jarn as the enemy,” Glyn said. “That’s stupid, and it won’t do, but he’s not as bad as Flavien even so.”

  “Not Ulf, unfortunately,” Elenn said. “It’s not just the honor, it’s someone to make sure he’s safe, so it has to be someone who can ride well. Ulf strikes me as a very courteous fellow and quite suitable, apart from the Jarnish issue, but he’s still in training.”

  “Terrible shame Alswith’s not here, then. Fully trained, war hero—” Garah wagged her pen at me, and leaned too far towards me over the fire so the tip was caught by a spark and started to smolder. She sighed and dropped it into the fire, where it burned with a horrible smell of singeing feather.

  “Oh well, no shortage of quills at the moment,” she said, shrugging and giggled. As well as sending the pennons out boar hunting to distract the kings and to add to the food supplies, we had sent one out fowling on a backwater of the Tamer above Caer Tanaga. They had been very lucky and netted a flock of geese making their way south for winter. Goose and turnip soup thickened with barley is wonderfully warming. Elenn had seen fit to serve it to the kings only once. The rest went to the ala, who were delighted to be able to eat their fill of something good for a change.

  “I’ll give him someone reliable, even-tempered, and not Jarnish,” I said, relenting. “I’ll be there myself tomorrow anyway, it’s so good to get out and do something in what daylight there is. At least all this hunting is keeping them fed as well as occupied and apart.”

  “For the feast last year when all the kings came, we were preparing for three months,” Garah agreed. She had set her tablets down and was rubbing her fingers free of wax. “And Dalmer said for Angas’s wedding they were preparing half a year and had honey sent from Demedia and wine from Narlahena.”

  “We have some wine, fortunately,” Elenn said. “I agree that the hunting is helpful.”

  “And going over the river and hunting in Aylsfa makes Ayl feel as if he’s doing something for us, which cheers him up,” Glyn said.

  “His brother has been helping me in the hall,” Elenn said. I looked at her, frowning, trying to work out what had changed about her. She was sitting up straight, and her voice was more formal. I realized she wasn’t prepared to be relaxed in front of Glyn. I could see the uses of diplomacy with the allied kings, but did she need to extend it to everyone male? It seemed unnecessary and a little sad, but I didn’t say anything.

  “Helping you with the flowers?” Garah asked.

  “Where do you get flowers a month before midwinter anyway?” I asked, idly.

  “Most of them I dried in the summer and arrange with bare branches and sprays of evergreen,” she said. “Sidrok Trumwinsson has been carrying branches for me. He seems to enjoy it.”

  “He’s besotted with you is what it is,” Glyn said. “I’ve seen him making sheep’s eyes and sighing. He’s enraptured to be in the presence of such beauty. He dreams about you at night.”

  “Honestly, Glyn, you read that sort of thing into absolutely everything,” I said, annoyed.

  “Maybe it’s because I’m in love,” he said lugubriously, pulling a face at me. “I’ve been meaning to say for a while, Sulien, I don’t need to ask your permission, but will you give your blessing to Garah and me getting married?”

  I thought at first he was still joking, but when I looked at Garah she was blushing. “Is this what you want, Garah?” I asked, and my voice sounded strange in my ears. She raised her chin and looked at me seriously. I’ve never understood why anyone gets married if they don’t have to produce an heir. But I didn’t feel I could tell Garah how awful it was, and perhaps it was easier to endure if you truly wanted children. And they were working together so much, it wasn’t surprising they didn’t want to say good-bye at night. Garah was looking nervous. “Of course I give you my blessing!” I said, “If you’re sure it’s what you want.”

  Elenn was giving me a look I couldn’t quite interpret. “Strong children, plentiful crops, good weather,” she said, the Isarnagan wedding blessing. Then she got up and hugged Garah and then Glyn. I did the same.

  “I shall bake your plait-bread,” I said, sitting down again. Garah beamed at me. “If I remember how, and if we have enough honey,” I added.

  “Shall I ask Bishop Dewin to perform the wedding?” Elenn asked.

  “I—” Glyn began, hesitantly, and Garah took over.

  “We thought we’d have the Mother’s blessing and make vows at dawn in the old way,” she said, firmly. Elenn opened her mouth and shut it again. Just then there was a scratch at the door.

  “Come in,” Garah called, as this was formally one of her rooms. Glyn shrugged as if to say he couldn’t think who it could be so late.

  A gate guard came in. “I’m looking for the queen,” he said, and then seeing Elenn, bowed. “Arrivals, my lady,” he said.

  “The High King?” she asked, bounding to her feet.

  “No, my lady. It’s Mardol the Crow, Cadraith ap Mardol and Admiral Thurrig, with some others I don’t know. They’re waiting.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I will be down in a moment.” The guard went back down the stairs. “Lucky this is here, I suppose,” Elenn said, picking up the welcome cup.

  “I’ll send for the bread,” Garah said. “No, I’ll go for it, it’ll be quicker.” Garah ran down the stairs towards the kitchen. Elenn filled the cup from a wineskin that was hanging on the wall. By the time she had finished Garah was back with a plate of salted bread.

  “This is all the bread there is until they bake in the morning,” she said. “Are their rooms ready? Shall I check them? And ask the servants to bring some food?”

  “That would be very good of you, Garah,” Elenn said. “Now, will you come down with me, Sulien?” she asked. I stood up, stretched and yawned, straightened my drape and refastened my brooch, then followed her down. As the other kings arrived I had ridden out a few hours from Caer Tanaga to greet them with the whole ala. This served two purposes; it honored them and it made them realize the strength of an ala, and how little they would appreciate being on the wrong side of our spears. Nobody had warned us about Duke Mardol’s party. I would have to find out what went wrong with my scouts.

  Elenn was still dressed for the banquet. Her overdress was very pale green, embroidered with gold flowers. In the torchlight at the gate it looked white, but the gold shone, as did the gold of the cup. I waited under the arch as she went forward and greeted the armored newcomers individually, offering the plate and cup and then returning their soft words of peace. Then she led them inside to the hall. Thurrig stopped me as we went in.

  “Sulien,” he growled. “Good to see you. Let’s get a drink, eh?”

  “Good idea,” I said. I found myself grinning at him.

  “Did you miss me?” he asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know how I get by without the sight of your bushy brown beard,” I said, though his beard was almost all grey now. “It seems like half an age since I saw you.”

  “I’ve been stuck in damned Tir Isarnagiri for half an age,” he said. “If I never see the place again, it’s too soon.”

  “What’s wrong with it?” I asked. “Apart from you and Chanerig stirring up a hornets’ nest?”

  “Get me a drink, and I’ll tell you,” he said.

  Servants were bringing out cold roast boar and apples for Mardol and Cadraith and their party. Others were bending down singing charms to light the fires that had been laid for the morning. There was plenty of room. I found space near the end of a table away from the others and liberated a jug of mead and two goblets.

  “So, Tir Isarnagiri?” I asked, when we were settled comfortably. Thurrig had a pig’s foot and the jug in front of him.

  “They’re the most infuriating people in the world. If Elenn wasn’t one of them I’d
say they were all without exception unbearable, but as it is I shall say that nothing is perfect and so the Isarnagans aren’t perfectly dreadful because they have one mitigating good person. All the rest of them are—well, I won’t spoil the clean straw on the floor saying what I think of them. They say a thing fifteen different ways but they never say yes or no, they flatter you in the morning and try to have you poisoned at night, they consult their oracle-priests every hour and refuse to do anything. I got there eager to fight the enemy. After a month I was ready to fight our hosts along with them. After six months I’d have set fire to the whole island and laughed as it went up.” He took a deep swallow of mead, and I could see his throat working. He set his goblet down empty.

  “Is that why you let Chanerig fight their gods?” I asked.

  “Well.” He looked uncomfortable and shifted his weight a little on the bench. “Yes. He’d converted the queen’s father already, Allel, so it wasn’t quite as—it didn’t seem as bad as it might. I didn’t think it would work the way it did, and Chanerig was so eager to try it, and I was ready to try anything that would be likely to make a change.” He offered me the jug, and when I had filled my goblet he lifted it to his lips and drank deeply from it. “I can see why you’d be upset, eh? But I’ve never been much for matters of the gods, not back in Narlahena and not here. I’m not saying I’d have let Chanerig chase out the gods of my people, maybe, but these were stranger gods to me, and anyway I took the pebble years ago to shut Amala up.”

  “But what did you think would happen?”

  “I thought he’d convert a few of their land gods and cause problems here and there. I thought it might help if they weren’t all agreeing about consulting their oracle-priests. Also I thought it might maybe stir up trouble in Oriel. We’d never once managed to meet on a battlefield in all that time. But what did happen, well, it was amazing. I was standing right behind him with my ax, the whole time, ready to save his life if need be, but I didn’t once wet it. He took off his shirt and stood bare-chested with his pebble on. Then he watched the sun go down and lit the fire. This was on the festival of Bel, did I say? All at once they came swarming, gods and spirits, strange shapes like something out of a dream. They came rushing and howling in from all over the landscape, tall ones like trees and wet ones like streams and bright proud ones shining, men and women, young and old. There were cats with huge eyes and giants and little gnomes, swarms of bees, great bears, everything you ever heard about in a fireside story and didn’t want to believe.”

  It might have been because I was tired or it might have been the drink, but I could almost see them as he described them. I took another mouthful of the summer-tasting mead. “There were so many of them the place was full, all except the circle where Chanerig was standing, with me right behind him. They came forward one at a time and he wrestled them. Some he wrestled with force, beating them to the ground. I taught him to fight myself when he was a boy. Others he fought with words out of his holy books. Others argued endlessly, but always they gave way and another came forward. Most of them he wrestled. The cat he squeezed the life out of. There were people there, too, pressing round, but there were so many land gods they couldn’t get anywhere near. Towards dawn the High Gods came striding in, tall and brave, and I thought he was done for. Chanerig clutched his pebble and shouted at them to praise the White God or leave, and they just faded away in the dawnlight. That scared even me. I was tired by then. All night I stood ready with my ax, and sometimes I shifted my weight a little to one foot and then again the other. Then when the sun was up they were all gone, and Chanerig sat on the ground, exhausted. The people rushed up then with weapons, ready to kill him where he sat. Then I took one step forward with my ax, and they looked at him and at me. They’d seen the whole night, too. They just looked, and they saw I was ready to fight them all if need be, and then they turned and slunk away.”

  I shook my head in wonder and took another drink. “He was still wrong to do it.”

  “Yes, well,” Thurrig rumbled. “I wouldn’t have let him try if I’d known what would come of it, all this invading and settling and war in Demedia.” He picked up the pig’s foot and sucked the sweet meat from between the bones.

  “What’s this I hear about a massacre?” I asked.

  “That was Marchel’s idiocy,” he said, sounding angry. He banged the pig’s foot down again. “Did she never listen to me? Bringing disgrace on my name. I gave her a piece of my mind. I’ve left her up in Wenlad to see if that will cool her down a bit, she wanted to come here or go back to Caer Gloran, but I wouldn’t let her. Isarnagans might be no use for anything—they’ll just argue until you’re hoarse and never get anything done. But butchering them when they’ve surrendered, that’s wrong, however annoying they are.”

  “She killed them after they surrendered?” I was horrified. “What did she think she was doing?”

  “She had the ala and they were retreating to their ships,” Thurrig said, looking grim. “I had finally got out of the island and just happened to be coming along as she was fighting them. We were in our ships, of course, and their ships were still on the beach, so we came up behind them and fired burning arrows into them. They were surrendering on the shore, but before I could get there Marchel and her ala had put them all to the sword.”

  “But nobody will ever surrender to us again!” I said, appalled. “How could she?”

  “She said nobody would know, they were all dead. Cadraith was well behind, his ala had been chasing them, but they hadn’t come up, so it was only her and me and our people. But that’s no use, the armigers all know, they did it. I know. I’m not telling everyone, but I’m going to tell Urdo and see what he wants to do about it. I hope I can persuade him to be merciful. She lost her temper, I think, that’s all there is to it, but it won’t do at all.”

  “Urdo will—” I trailed off. I’d been going to say he’d kill her, and it occurred to me that he very well might. That was against the usage of war. Thurrig shook his head at me.

  Elenn came up on the other side of Thurrig and perched on the bench.

  “Elenn, my queen, as beautiful as ever,” he said, and stood up to bow in the Malmish way, arms at his sides.

  She smiled graciously as he sat down again. Then she leaned towards him confidentially and asked quietly “Have you seen Urdo?”

  Thurrig shook his head. “Isn’t he here? I assumed he was asleep just now. I haven’t seen a hair of him, and we’ve come down just now from Caer Asgor by way of Thansethan. We’ve not been rushing, but if he’s still on the road from Demedia, he’s not within a day’s ride north of here.” He frowned. “What are you going to do if he’s late? Postpone the feast?”

  “Hold it anyway,” Elenn said, looking very determined. I raised my eyebrows. Urdo’s letter to her had been very thick, perhaps it had contained specific instructions. “Thank you, Thurrig, Sulien.” She got up and walked back to the others, leaving us to shrug at each other.

  Thurrig lowered his voice. “How can we hold a feast of Urdo’s Peace if he isn’t here?”

  I shook my head. “I hope Elenn knows what she’s doing,” I said.

  31

  The Three Greatest Joys Anyone Can Know

  Winning great fame,

  making a child

  and coming home again.

  —Triads of Tir Tanagiri

  “More like a month after midwinter than a month before,” Beris said, loudly and cheerfully, making my head ring.

  I grunted, concentrating on getting my wrist straps tight. The ordinary smell and close air of the stables made my stomach churn. Starlight was saddled and ready and some of the hunting party were already starting to lead their horses out.

  “Sulien doesn’t want sunshine this morning,” ap Cathvan said, laughing. He was leaning on the side of a stall, looking revoltingly healthy. I looked again—when had he got all that grey in his hair?

  “You should have drunk milk before you went to bed,” Beris said, eyeing me symp
athetically.

  I sighed. “I was up late, that’s all, I’m a bit tired this morning.”

  “Up late drinking mead with Thurrig?” ap Cathvan asked, though he clearly knew already. “That’s what I heard.”

  “Mead can be terribly deceptive stuff,” Beris agreed, shaking her head. “It’s the sweetness. You should always drink water before bed, or milk if you can get it. Goat’s milk is best, of course, but cow’s milk is better than water and water is better than nothing.”

  I ignored them and pulled on my gloves. That they were right and I had drunk too much the night before didn’t make me feel any better. Thurrig had wanted to drink, and the later part of the evening was not clear in my mind. He kept talking about what Marchel had been like as a child and muttering about massacres. He’d never once said what he might do, though, if Urdo executed her. If he’d said he’d take the fleet and sail away to Narlahena, I’d have known he wouldn’t really do it, but he’d never exactly said it. Starlight put her head down and whuffled at me. I realized that Beris and ap Cathvan were waiting for me.

  “I could get you some goat’s milk now?” Beris offered. My stomach heaved at the idea.

  “No,” I said. “But if you want to be a nursemaid, Cinon is hunting with us today. You can be his guard.” Her expression clearly showed that she would have liked to protest the order, but she said nothing. I suppose there would have been more tactful ways to put it, and it wasn’t that unpleasant a job. I took a breath and tried to soften it slightly. “Did I accidentally say latrine duty?” I asked. “Looking after Cinon’s not punishment, it’s an honor; the queen asked me specially to choose someone who was sensible and a first-rate rider.” I took up Starlight’s reins and led the way out of the stables. The grass crunched with frost underfoot. The sun was rising out of the mists on the river, sending out agonizingly bright spears of light over the woods of Aylsfa on the eastern bank. The pale dawn sky seemed to arch high above instead of hanging a spear’s length above the trees the way it usually did.