The King's Peace

by Jo Walton

  “I broke a good boar spear trying it,” Luth said.

  Ayl gazed thoughtfully down at the tracks the creature had left. “I suppose we just goaded him with our spears?”

  “Mine went in a little way, I think,” I said.

  “He didn’t hurt me,” Darien repeated. “He didn’t hurt—” He looked at me, and floundered for a moment, clearly unsure what to call me. “Er, you, either.”

  “Neither of you had done anything to anger him,” Urdo said. “Unless you count spearing him and flinging yourselves on top of him. Did you jump onto Turth’s shoulder, Darien?”

  Darien squirmed. “I—yes. I went between the tusks. It seemed like there wasn’t anywhere else to go right then, the others were all flinging themselves flat but I couldn’t see what good it would do.”

  “It was the best of a bad set of choices,” I agreed.

  “The tusks slice from beneath,” Ayl explained. “If you’re flat on the ground the pig has to stop and root you over, or bite you, to get his tusks under you, and they don’t want to stop. Didn’t help them this time, though—some of them got trodden on. I caught that out of the corner of my eye when I was looking at ap Gwien vaulting onto the top of the thing.”

  “He gored Cinon through the thigh and trampled about half of his men,” Urdo said.

  “Whatever had Cinon done to make Turth so angry?” Luth asked, not laughing at all now.

  “I suppose it was probably killing Sister Arvlid,” Darien said. We all turned to look at him. “Or maybe stealing King Ayl’s boat and setting it on fire? They ambushed us as we were going along the road. We thought they were friends to start with. They were going to kill me, too, I think, when they got to the right place, except I was going to run away as soon as I got a chance. They’d untied my legs so I could walk, and I was going to run fast as soon as I had sight of somewhere to run to. Only then it got foggy when we were in the wood and then everyone was there.”

  Luth opened and shut his mouth a few times, before managing to say “Cinon?” in an astonished squeak.

  It took Ayl a little longer to absorb what Darien had said, and say, “My boat? What boat?”

  “When was this?” I asked Darien, ignoring them. “How long ago did they ambush you?”

  “This morning,” said Darien, definitely.

  “The gods have been looking after you,” I said. My breathing was a lot easier now. “It was five days ago.” I looked at Urdo, and he looked back at me for a long moment.

  “People get murdered all the time without the gods doing anything at all!” Luth said. “And why did Cinon do all that?”

  “Maybe Turth came because he made a sacrifice of a holy sister in a sacred grove in an attempt to break the Peace,” I said. But I knew he had come to save Darien; I knew that Darien would be important one day. Urdo glanced at me swiftly.

  “Break the Peace?” Luth rubbed his forehead as if it hurt. “Cinon?”

  “She was a Jarnish monk from Thansethan,” Urdo put in, “and the intention in stealing his royal ship was to make it look as if Ayl had done it.”

  “Oh!” Luth looked as if that made much more sense. Then he looked at Ayl in a puzzled kind of way.

  Ayl just gaped. “My ship? As if I had been raiding and killed a holy sister of Thansethan?” If I hadn’t been sure of his innocence before, the complete bewilderment on his face would have settled it.

  “It looked very convincing,” I said. “If I’d come over the river with troops and attacked you, you’d not have stopped to ask me what I was doing, would you?”

  “I suppose not,” he said. “Cinon.” He shook his head. “Cinon has never trusted me at all, or any Jarns, but he has never made a secret of it. That is more cunning than I had expected to find in him.”

  “Or I, come to that,” said Urdo, frowning.

  “Some of it was very stupid,” I said. “It does make sense to think it was someone stupid following a plan made by someone cleverer.”

  “Who, then?” Urdo asked.

  “Flavien ap Borthas?” I suggested. “And maybe—” But I looked at Ayl and didn’t mention my suspicions about Morthu just then. He was married to Morthu’s sister after all. “I thought he would have to have a public trial,” I said, instead, because they were all looking at me. “I thought that would be the only way to clear Ayl. I wasn’t expecting that boar at all. But if Cinon did it and he is dead, are we going to tell everyone?”

  “That Cinon met a king’s death in a hunting accident?” Luth asked.

  “Or that the gods of the island killed him before me for giving them a sacrifice he had no right to give in a place that was not his,” Urdo said. “Those would seem to be the choices. This is the time to decide, now before everyone else gets here.”

  “What best serves the Peace?” I asked.

  “That it was bandits out of Jarnholme who killed Sister Arvlid and the hope that Cinon’s son shall learn to be better friends with his neighbors than his father,” Urdo said. “Whoever planned this will have learned that this sort of attack on us does not work.”

  “Or that they will have to plan better next time,” I said. I could hear the sound of hoofbeats; it sounded as if a pennon was coming towards us from the camp.

  “Or that,” Urdo agreed. “All the same there are many in Nene who thought as Cinon did and need time to learn better. Disgracing him after his death would only make them hate us more. But though I was wronged by these actions I was not wronged as much as you, Darien, and you, Ayl. If Cinon lived I would have brought him to justice for his crimes whatever the cost.”

  “He has been punished by the gods,” Ayl said. “That will do for me, though I would have the price of my ship from his heirs.”

  “That is fair,” Urdo said. “And you, Darien?”

  “For myself, I would have the Peace,” Darien said, sounding very grown-up, but at the same time just like a little boy. “But there is also Sister Arvlid, and so you should ask this question of Thansethan. You said Father Gerthmol is here?”

  That was one of the very few times I ever saw Urdo look entirely surprised. “Then it will come out,” he said. “Father Gerthmol dislikes me now and does not care for my Peace.”

  “He can forgive anything except someone deliberately turning their back on God,” Darien said, as if he were quoting.

  “And does he think that I have?” Urdo asked, angrily. “And do you think so?” Then more gently, “But you are right, he has been wronged.”

  “No,” I said, pulling myself carefully to my feet. I hurt all over, worse than after wrestling with Larig in training. I had to roll onto my side and use both arms to get up. I needed a really hot bath and a rubdown with oil before I stiffened, and I knew I wasn’t going to get one. “Arvlid has surely been wronged, and the White God perhaps, and Thansethan maybe a little, but does Father Gerthmol have the right to speak for all of those?” I leaned back against the warm and dappled flank of Luth’s mare.

  “Only for the last,” Urdo said.

  Darien raised his chin slowly. “Then who can speak for Arvlid and for the White God?” he asked.

  “You were her friend and chosen companion,” Urdo said, his eyes on Darien’s face. “And what would the White God say?”

  “He would say—” Darien hesitated, and when he started again he sounded much more sure of himself, as if he was quoting a lesson he knew he had learned well. “He would say ‘Let the dead bury the dead, we should look at what can be done for the living.’ He would say ‘Blessed be the peacemakers, I shall call them my children.’” There were tears rolling down his face, but they did not reach his voice. “And Sister Arvlid would say what he said to the stones ‘Forgive these my blood.’ She did say it, my lord, she said that to them before they killed her.” He was sobbing now, all his self-control gone. I took a step towards him, but it was Urdo he turned to, and Urdo held him for a moment. Then he pulled away, wiped his tattered sleeve across his nose and eyes, and said, in a tear-choked but controlled vo
ice, “So if I can speak for them I would say do what you said you would choose to do.”

  Then the horses I had heard came out of the tatters of mist. Ap Erbin was in the lead, Raul was behind him on Ulf’s Smoky. He did not usually ride a greathorse, nor carry a spear, and he looked a little uneasy in the saddle. Elidir and Grugin were there, leading Glimmer and one of the spare riding horses. The rest were all armigers of my pennon. They drew to a halt when they saw us, and lowered their spears in some confusion. Raul jumped down, dropping his spear carelessly in a way that would have earned him ten days of latrine duty if he’d been under my command. He embraced Urdo, then stepped a little away, and Urdo embraced him. They stood there hugging each other and not saying anything while we all looked on, and then we tried to look at each other instead. Ayl remounted to give himself something to do, and I signaled Grugin to bring up Glimmer and the horse for Darien. I patted Darien’s shoulder as we mounted up.

  “You did very well,” I told him quietly. I wanted to say I was proud of him, but couldn’t find a way that sounded right. I patted his shoulder again. Glimmer seemed very pleased to see me and more than a little nervous. I did my best to reassure him that I was there and that it wasn’t his fault. Then I directed him over towards ap Erbin. I felt stiff and weary.

  “What happened after we left?” I asked him quietly.

  “Huge row with Father Gerthmol and the priests,” ap Erbin whispered. “Also a kind of fight among the armigers. It was my fault for not doing anything quickly enough, I suppose. But I didn’t quite realize what Father Gerthmol was saying. He tried to stop anyone coming after you, saying the beast had taken the evildoers. They were getting in the way of the horses and worrying some of the armigers who follow the White God. Cinon’s dead, you know? Father Gerthmol said the White God struck the ship by lightning and sent the boar to avenge Arvlid, and some of the armigers were believing him about you and the High King. Gunnarsson started the fighting though when he knocked that idiot brother of Angas’s flat. He was shouting that the beast had taken Ayl and Cinon so Nene and Aylsfa had no kings. Sidrok started looking at that awful standard a different way then, damn him. I was trying to get people ready to come and help you. I couldn’t just kill Father Gerthmol, tempted though I was. Lots of ap Selevan’s pennon seemed to be agreeing with him, and a handful of Luth’s armigers, too. I couldn’t leave when things were like that. It could have got sticky and come to real fighting. I kept hoping you were all right and you’d just come back. Where have you been all this time anyway? But then good old Raul—”

  Then he stopped, and pointed, astonishment clearly written on his face. I looked, though I wasn’t satisfied with this account. Raul was going down on his knees before Urdo. There were tears on his cheeks. “I have no sword,” he said, and stopped. Darien had dismounted again and walked up to him with the spear he had dropped. “Thank you,” he said gravely, taking it. “My lord, we must go back quickly, but first I would swear to you.”

  “Not as armiger, old friend?” Urdo said, looking down at him.

  “I would serve you in whatever way I can best do so,” Raul said. “You know my skills are not in fighting.”

  “What of your service to the White God?” Urdo asked gravely.

  “Whatever I do, I shall be serving the White God according to my own conscience. Father Gerthmol has given me back my vows to Thansethan.”

  “Threw them in his teeth,” muttered ap Erbin to me. “Asked him whose side he was on, and couldn’t say a word when Raul said he would answer before the throne of God.”

  “It was no will of mine or the White God’s that I left your service; now that I am free to do so, I return to it, as I should not have left it.” Raul went on. Then Raul gave Urdo the spear and took his oath on it, swearing by the White God to strike and go and do as Urdo would command in the words we armigers had all sworn. But instead of giving him back the spear Urdo put it down. He smiled and reached inside his tunic for something and drew it out and handed it to Raul as he raised him. I leaned over to see what it was as Raul got up, and almost laughed because it was so appropriate. Urdo had given him his patterned Lossian stylus.

  37

  Almighty God, who art a strong tower of defense unto thy servants against the face of their enemies. We yield thee praise and thanksgiving for our deliverance from those great and apparent dangers wherewith we were compassed. We acknowledge it thy goodness that we were not delivered over as prey unto them; beseeching thee still to continue such thy mercies toward us, that all the world may know that thou art the Savior and Mighty Deliverer and join with us in praising thy glory.

  —Prayer for Thanksgiving in Victory, as used at Thansethan,

  early translation

  There is a mosaic in Thansethan of what they say happened next. “Urdo humbling himself before St. Gerthmol” they call it. My nephew Gwien saw it when he went on pilgrimage three years before he died. He told us all about it. He thought it would interest me, being about Urdo, who he himself barely remembered. The mosaic had just been made then, with real gold for the crown and silver for swords, young Gwien said, and the boar lying dead behind made of chips of jet from the beaches east of Caer Avroc. Ap Lew was impressed at such splendor, but I just snorted. All I can say is that I was there, and I don’t care how fine the colors are, the boar was never killed and Urdo never bent his knee to Father Gerthmol nor asked forgiveness, no matter what anyone says.

  There was a wind out of the east blowing away the tatters of the mist before us as we came back to the camp. As we rode downhill I could see the flat fields of Aylsfa stretching out on the other side of the river. In the trees there was a dove calling over and over ro-co-coo, ro-co-coo. My bones felt as if they had been hammered on an anvil like iron for a horseshoe. I was hardly riding, more sitting on Glimmer’s back allowing him to follow the other horses and carry me with him. Urdo and Raul were talking in front of me and I heard Raul say, “Whatever else, he is an honest man.”

  Most of the ala were mounted and looking uneasy. Urdo had given orders and ap Erbin and Luth rode ahead to deal with them and get them ready to ride. I had suggested we could stay another night at the camp, but I had forgotten the problem Cinon posed us even in death. I followed Urdo to the center of the camp. There was a cluster of people there about the trampled bodies of the slain. As well as the knot of monks there was Ayl’s brother Sidrok and Ayl’s other folk, Cinon’s surviving men and a handful of armigers. Ulf was there, looking murderous. Ap Selevan stood next to him, looking dreadfully ill at ease. He had his hand on his sword hilt. Morthu was there, too, standing next to Father Gerthmol. One side of his face was bruised and grazed, making his expression unreadable.

  Everyone looked up when we came near, and their expressions were very revealing. Morthu looked furious for an instant, then went immediately back to calm. Ap Selevan took his hand off his sword and smiled. Ulf looked deeply relieved. Sidrok looked confused. The other Jarnsmen looked pleased. The men of Nene looked worried, and so did Father Geneth and most of the monks. Father Gerthmol looked utterly terrified, even more frightened than he had looked running away from the boar.

  Urdo drew to a halt, and we pulled up behind him. Glimmer wasn’t happy and took a few steps sideways. He didn’t want to stop near where Turth had been. He threw up his head and jostled Ayl’s horse, and it took me a moment to bring him back under control. Then there was a silence as Urdo looked down at Father Gerthmol, who was clutching his pebble and muttering something under his breath. Then Sidrok’s face resolved itself into dignity.

  “Ayl! By the Thunderer and the White God, you are safely returned to us beyond our hopes.”

  “Not all our hopes,” muttered ap Selevan, loudly, frowning at Sidrok. Ayl slid down from his horse and he and his brother thumped each other on the back in the Jarnish way of expressing affection. Civilized people would have hugged each other. Then Ayl went down the line of his people, all of them taking their turn to pound and be pounded.

  “We
are returned, and unharmed,” Urdo said, while this was going on.

  “And the great fiend you followed?” Morthu asked.

  “The boar is gone,” Urdo said, in the firm tone he used to indicate that a subject was closed.

  Father Gerthmol turned round to face us, seemed to cower for a moment, and looked up at us. Then he clutched at his pebble, drew himself up to his full height, and began to rant.

  “Begone, demons and foul fiends come in the form of man and beast, I expel you in the name of the Holy Father, the God Made Man, and the Ever-living Spirit—”

  It was so sudden and unexpected that nobody reacted for a moment, except Glimmer, who put his ears back and spooked again. When I’d got him back under control Father Gerthmol was all but foaming at the mouth, trying to cast us all out as demons. The other monks had taken a step back away from him and looked clearly uncertain; one or two of them were looking towards Raul. Father Geneth was trying, much too tentatively, to take Father Gerthmol by the sleeve.

  I wanted to laugh, and then suddenly Darien did laugh, high and loud and clear, a sudden peal of irrepressible childish laughter. The next moment I heard Urdo’s deep laugh boom out, and then I was laughing, too, and so were many among the crowd, Ulf and ap Selevan and Ayl and some of his people. Father Gerthmol looked furious, and for a moment, terribly embarrassed, then he started shouting again, and waving his arms wildly.

  The charm he was saying can have had no power, or maybe the White God was angry with him for calling us demons when we were no such thing. He waved his arms in the face of our laughter, and he was still clutching his pebble. The cord that held it, perhaps worn with so much devotion, snapped, and the white pebble fell. It bounced off one of the bodies and then stuck in the mud in front of Urdo’s horse. The event horrified Father Gerthmol much more than the laughter. Anyone would have thought it had been the worst thing to happen for months. He stopped shouting and froze for a moment, staring at the fallen pebble. Then his face suddenly crumpled and he sank towards the ground until he was sitting there, his robe rumpled around him. I thought he might cry, but he did not, he just sat on the ground like a skein of yarn dropped from a distaff.