The Language of Stones

by Robert Carter

  ‘So do you, Edmund,’ Will said, and added, ‘And…so do I.’

  ‘Maybe, Will. But, it’s different for Edward. You see, he’s the heir.’

  And at that moment, as Edmund left him alone in the room, Will realized a crucial truth about Edward. His father was not just a great lord, he was a great lord who considered himself the rightful king of the Realm and, where any lord’s son was concerned, being the heir made a very great difference indeed.

  The death that Will expected at Foderingham did not come. The duchess and her family remained in thriving good health, and Gort continued on, lively as pond water.

  To Will’s disgust Beltane came and went unmarked by celebration. The Sightless Ones called it the Day of Abstinence, and the rite they performed in the castle felt as if every last drop of joy had been wrung from the ritual centuries ago. No news had come from Gwydion, and Will began to feel that he had been truly abandoned. Surely, he thought, no matter how busy he is, or how important his work, he could have found time to write a message of some kind. But it was not to be.

  Added to that, the stone had been whispering in the night again. He had lain awake trying not to listen to it, but his body had begun to feel strange. He was changing, he knew that. His voice quavered and croaked by turns, hairs began to sprout on his upper lip and in a ludicrous clump in the middle of his chest and down in his groin. He felt restless and prone to sudden irritation, as though there was a new kind of hunger lurking inside him that could not be fed, but there was also a heaviness that he knew must be coming from the Dragon Stone.

  Throughout the months of May and June the summer’s heat slowly mounted. He found himself day-dreaming and lost sight of what he was supposed to be learning. Sir John’s weapons exercises were turning him into a monster. They took up first two, and then three, hours of every day. Will and Edward took their instruction in sight of one another, and the urge to compete grew. Though Will took to the labours more easily, Edward would never allow himself to be bested. Their necks and wrists began to thicken with all the repeated movements, and their thighs and arms and chests became corded with muscle. Will began to have a strange dream that his own spirit had begun to inhabit someone else’s body. As he and Edward completed their exercises with practice swords, each eyed the other and wondered when Sir John would set them to see who would fare the better in combat.

  Finally July came, and one hot morning Edmund cut a finger on a quill knife and Tutor Aspall had no choice but to leave Will and Edward to their studies unsupervised. That proved to be a mistake.

  Edward sprawled with his feet up on a chair, looking bored. ‘I’m sick of being locked up in this place!’ he shouted and threw the flanged mace he had been toying with across the room.

  It clanged down heavily near Will and made him start, so that the ink spattered from his quill and across his work.

  ‘Why don’t you go down to the Garden of the White Nose?’ he said, prickled. ‘Go and trample down a few flowers until you feel a little better!’

  Edward turned, equally prickled. ‘Don’t call it that! I hate it when you call it that.’

  ‘Why not? It’s a better name for it than the idiot name it’s got now.’

  ‘You’re the idiot!’

  ‘I’m certainly next to one.’

  ‘Take that back!’

  ‘Or what?’ he said, looking up. ‘What will you do, eh?’

  Edward disappeared and moments later he came back with the contents of Will’s private chest. He scattered them on the floor, and his silver-bound horn fell clattering to the boards. ‘Let’s see what the beggar has got wrapped up in his filthy shirt, shall we?’

  Will felt a cold current of rage run through him unstoppably. This went far beyond the routine jibes that Edward made at Will’s lowly origins, this was war.

  ‘Oh, look! What’s this?’

  ‘Put it down! I’m warning you!’

  Delighted by Will’s anger, Edward brandished the horn. ‘Who is that little boy dressed up in blue?’ he asked, meaning the blue-and-white Ebor livery clothes that Will was obliged to wear. ‘Tell me now, who can that little boy be?’

  ‘I said, put it down!’

  Edward pranced away. ‘Little boy blue, come blow up your horn! The sheep in the meadow, the cows in the corn!’

  When he put the horn to his lips, Will swung at him. But Edward was ready. He threw down the horn, moved aside and shoved Will down hard. As he went over he fell awkwardly, banging his head. The injury was slight but it hurt, and his eyebrow bled, and that enraged him. They pushed and shoved. Then Edward came at him, arms flailing, until one of the blows caught Will in the bloodied eye. Will swung back and felt bone bite against his knuckles, then he tried to break away and recover his belongings. But Edward was up and on him again. He threw Will back to the floor. Will fended off the punches as best he could, but Edward rained powerful blows against the side of his head. They were meant to do damage, and Will knew that the moment when they might have quit and still kept their pride had come and gone.

  There was now a fury upon Edward that was frightening. He had little natural mercy in him, and when Will broke away he could taste blood in his mouth. He could feel it welling from beside his left eye and he knew this was not just play that had got out of hand. They had both been trained to fight and they were ready. He saw Edward glance at the mace. If he reached it, Will knew, he would have his skull opened. Edward would not be satisfied until Will was hurt. And then what? Nothing would be done, because Edward was the heir. There was no alternative – he had to meet the onslaught with craft.

  As Edward went towards the mace, Will dived under the table and rolled over onto the weapon. He felt several kicks aimed at him before one connected with his back. He anticipated the next and made a grab for the heel. Edward tried furiously to wrench his foot away, but that only overbalanced him. Will dumped him on his back, and that bought enough time to find his own feet. As Edward came at him again, Will flung ink pot and quills into Edward’s face. The rim of the pewter pot caught him on the bridge of the nose. Then a wax writing board was warded off by a forearm, and it clattered to the floor, splashing ink across the stones like black blood. They came together again and as they wrestled, Edward’s foot slipped in the ink and down they went together.

  This time Will was on top. One hand gripped Edward’s throat, until Edward tried to pull himself up. He hauled on the chain that secured a heavy book to the table. When the book slid off, the iron binding slammed into the back of Will’s head. It sent a jab of pain through him. Their heads clashed together. Dazed, Will let go and was easily pushed off. When he tried to straighten up Edward aimed a kick at his jaw, which, if it had landed, would probably have killed him. Luckily, Edward was blinded, half by ink, half by rage, so his foot slammed instead into Will’s shoulder.

  Both were now at bay. They shook with fury and exertion as they stared at each other. Edward’s face was scratched and bloodied and sweating, his fair hair besmirched with ink. He was gasping and snorting. Will tried to staunch the red flow that was pouring from his nose. In the hiatus, Will tried to pick up Tutor Aspall’s big book and jerk it free from its chain. The idea was to throw it at Edward’s head, but the chain would not come free, and the effort of trying to yank it loose pulled it out of his hands.

  They advanced on one another again, all lessons but one in the way of war forgotten, grimacing, roaring, artlessly tearing at each other’s heads, gouging, poking, pushing and falling down. ‘All fights are dirty.’ The wisdom sounded in Will’s head like a rede of magic. Then, suddenly, Edward was on top of him and choking him. The mace-handle was hard across his windpipe. No matter how Will struggled he could not work himself free. He was fighting for breath. He needed to throw off the weight that was killing him, but he was unable to find purchase, until a great surge of panic-strength welled up into his arms and chest. Something snapped in Will’s head like a flash of lightning, and Edward was flung bodily across the chamber. He slammed i
nto the wall. Then the door opened and Sir John Morte was in their midst and his mailed hands were round Will’s neck and dragging him backwards.

  ‘Outside if you want to do that,’ he barked. He hauled Will out of the room and all the way down the passageway.

  ‘Gmmmmmh!’ Will yelled. He coughed and spluttered and spat out a mouthful of blood and spittle when Sir John dumped him in the corner. Edward came roaring out after him, his face streaming with blood. He could hardly see to start the battle again, but that did not stop him from trying.

  ‘Yaaaaaagghh!’

  Edward’s teeth were bared, his face pressed hard into Will’s own, but the flurry was short-lived, for Sir John pitched them both headlong down the steps and into the yard, and when Will got up to swing at Edward again Sir John slapped him to the floor with an effortless backhand.

  ‘You – stay there!’ He raised a blunt finger at Edward. ‘And you – do you want the same? Well, do you?’

  Edward thought he did at first…but then he decided he did not. And suddenly the fight was over. Both combatants sat on the ground, panting. Will wiped his swollen lips, tried to blow the blood from his nostrils, and Edward tested his jaw with both hands.

  Half to make a joke of it, but half to show he still had fight in him, Will said, ‘I told you we should’ve gone down to the Garden of the White Nose.’

  Edward got to his feet, still glowing like a coal. ‘That’s the last time you’ll insult the badge of this house in my hearing!’

  ‘How do you know? You’re too thick in the head to be a seer!’

  ‘You will be quiet!’ Sir John roared, poking him in the chest. ‘And you, Sir Edward…what would your father think of you if he could see you now?’

  Will tried to grin as Edward too was restrained.

  Sir John slapped Edward, then slapped Will too for good measure. Mail gloves closed over both their scalps as Sir John took them down to the well. He threw a pail of water over each of them in turn. Then he sat them down and asked Will what the fight was all about.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Will said stubbornly.

  ‘You don’t know.’ Sir John nodded slowly, and turned his broad, hard face towards Edward. ‘And I suppose you don’t know either?’

  Edward nodded tightly. ‘Forgotten.’

  ‘Then I shall have to tell you. Come here.’

  Will grew wary of Sir John’s quiet tone and the way he beckoned them closer. But the knight put a hand on each of their backs, showed a row of big, even teeth and said, ‘This is what always happens when two evenly-matched young bucks are set together. They feel the need to knock heads. The velvet on your antlers is shredding away fast, my lucky lads. It’s time I doubled your exercises. From now on, you’ll rise an hour earlier and finish an hour later. And next time you meet in battle, it won’t be a nasty little brawl on a school-room floor. You’ll fight with naked steel.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  AGAINST BETTER JUDGMENT

  Gort saw them in turn, to check their bones and sting their wounds with punitive medicine. When Will and Edward met again it was at the supper board. As Will tried to sit down, Edward immediately – and uncharacteristically – made room for him.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘Here!’ one of the serving women screeched, seeing their uncommon civility and their marked faces. ‘What’s to do with you, eh, young masters?’

  ‘Fight,’ Will said proudly, and slapped Edward on the back.

  ‘Good one, too,’ Edward said, inclining his head to shovel a spoonful of pease into the unbruised side of his mouth.

  ‘Aahh!’ The serving woman grinned as her big arms scraped out a pan. ‘You’ll be blooded as friends then now, I expect. That’s the way it always is after a scrap, eh? I got seven brothers, so I knows!’

  It was odd, but true. Will felt as if a great barrier had been torn down. That he had been lifted up in a way that made whatever pain he felt seem wholly unimportant. Something – he couldn’t say quite what – had been settled between them. It was something to do with being tested and something to do with winning respect, and it worked in both directions at once. Before the blood was even dry he had begun to feel closer to Edward than ever he had before. And Edward seemed to feel the same.

  As Will pushed the empty trencher away from him and Edward got up and poured him out a beaker of Callas wine, the castle clock chimed the sixth hour of the afternoon. Will winced at the acid touch of wine against his split lip, but he delighted in the honest feelings of brotherhood that had come out of the violence. He thought guiltily of the promises he had made to Gwydion, and realized he had not given the wizard much thought in a long while. His quest to find the stones of doom and stop a war, a quest that had just a little while ago seemed all-consuming, seemed far away now, an echo of the past that did not matter any more.

  ‘Hey, Willy Wag-staff!’ Edward called, grinning from the far side of the table.

  Will grinned back. Amazingly, the taunt no longer bothered him. He wore it with pride. ‘What?’

  ‘Do you want to see something?’ Edward drew an ivory rod out of his jerkin. It was about a foot long and twisted in a spiral, but the ends were roughly sawn. ‘One good horn deserves another, eh?’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘What do you think? A unicorn’s horn.’

  ‘Let me see!’Will looked at the prized object with bedazzled eyes. ‘Where did you get this?’

  ‘It’s from my father’s treasury.’ Edward turned it over proudly. ‘Don’t touch it. It’s very old.’

  ‘How did you get it?’

  ‘I can get the keys for every door in this castle.’

  ‘And everyone’s locked chest too, it seems.’

  Edward took the point wearily. ‘I promise I won’t mess around with your things again. Is that fair?’

  ‘That’s fair enough.’

  Will looked closely at the twisted white rod. It was as long as Will’s forearm, heavy and hard as a tooth and a little browned with age in the grooves. There was a worn patch on it, as if someone had been scraping at it with a blade. It made him think of the powders that Gort made.

  ‘You should be careful. Unicorns are magical beasts. You ought not to tamper with magic.’

  ‘Who says?’

  ‘Gort says.’

  ‘The Lord of the Earthworms? I’ll do what I like around here. When my father’s away, I’m head of the household, not Gort.’

  Will was about to argue and say that he should have more respect for the Wortmaster, but he stopped himself. Edmund was right: arguing with Edward was a waste of time – and the warm glow of their new-found friendship was too good to jeopardize unnecessarily.

  Some days later, in high summer, Huntmaster Tweddle took Will and Edward aside and walked them down to his lodge. He was a man of short temper, narrow interests and base humour, but what he knew about he knew very well, and all of it concerned hunting.

  Outdoors, his eyes were slits. Indoors, they were the same faded blue as cornflowers. He told them, ‘At fourteen years the young knight goes first to the field to hunt the hemule, but that’s not to feed his stomach on venison, that’s to learn what death may be. Aye, and to find out what courage is too. He must learn to have his wits about him, and how to take heed of signs. You’re ready to put on your first harness, to learn to wage war on men, to joust and to ride. In course of time you’ll learn how to take castles by force, how to skirmish, how to call up the courage that lies in other men’s bones, how to set watch for perils, how you might defend yourself, and what might be the correct use of weapons. But first, you’ll learn about blood. Come with me, and I’ll show you how to draw the guts from a deer and spread them for the hounds.’

  And so they learned how to stalk deer and shoot good arrows into thickets. All that month they spent with their hands bathed in blood to the elbows. Often they were bloodied from head to toe amid a mire of dismembered animals as the hounds gathered at the quarry and
the flies buzzed afterwards. Will put arrows into a target so well that Edward walked off and would not shoot alongside him. At fifty paces only three in thirty of his shots went astray, yet under Huntmaster Tweddle’s gaze none of Will’s darts hit hind or buck.

  As the huntmaster had predicted they were soon handed sword, mace and war-hammer and made to practise hard under Sir John’s ungentle tutelage. The knight showed how armets and sallets and barbutes and helms of many other shapes were most easily opened. He demonstrated how mace blows delivered to the heavy pauldrons that covered an armoured knight’s shoulders were worse than useless. He explained how bodkin arrowheads could burst open links in the chainmail that protected the gaps that all plate armour needed for movement’s sake. And what were the deadliest mistakes to make on a field of battle.

  Soon it was time to put on expensive arming doublets, which were tight jackets of red fustian lined with satin, reinforced with strips of leather and set with holes here and there. Through the holes bowstring twine rubbed with shoemaker’s wax was passed to hold the armour plate in position. Their armpits and the insides of their elbows were gusseted with mail. And there were thick worsted hose for their legs, reinforced in a similar way at knee and groin, and special shoes of thick leather, over which flexible steel sabatons could be strapped. The arming suits were hot to wear, but wear them they did, and for a whole summer week, while the material ‘sweated in’ against their bodies.

  Then for a second week they had to wear leg armour to all their lessons with Tutor Aspall. In between the lessons two armourer’s smiths came to ask if they felt sore in any part and to beat and bend the metal to a closer fit. When the blains on their ankles and knees began to heal, it was time for their arms and upper bodies to suffer. Will found to his surprise that although armour was very hot to wear, it was surprisingly comfortable, and not especially heavy because the weight of it was borne over the whole frame, and after a while his muscles became well adjusted to it. Two weeks after putting on his first arming doublet Will could run and climb and turn somersaults in full harness, and most important of all, he could ride in it with confidence.