by Gahan Hanmer
"What's being done with the dead?" I asked Gordon.
"Well, sir," said Gordon, "the dead have been laid out as decently as possible to wait for their families to claim them. I never imagined that anything like this could happen in this valley, with people killing each other like cats. I'm hoping very much that it will all be over tomorrow so we can go back to being humans again."
"Thank you, Gordon," I said. "I share your sentiments. And thank you all for taking care of everything. I'm afraid I wasn't much use. Is there anything else I need to know?"
"Lord Hawke has been to see Lord Bennett as we expected," said Leo, "and between them they rounded up Bennett's peasants and herded them off to the castle to fight for the duke. Bennett is there, of course, and his three sons too."
"All three? One of them is very young."
"I believe they're all at the castle."
"Where's Renny?"
"He's asleep," said Gordon. "After the battle he began to shiver and shake and then he cried his eyes out. Lord Griswold put him to bed in the stables, for the hall is full of the wounded."
Mora stifled a yawn, and that made me realize how completely exhausted I was myself. "Well, let's get some rest. Any idea where Mora and I can bunk down?"
"I'll find you a place if you'll come with me, my lord," said Leo.
On our way I stopped to look at the queen, who lay peacefully among the simple tributes from her subjects. "We'll watch her all the night, my lord," said one of the women. "Flora and me and all these others as well. If it rains, we'll see she's properly cared for, don't you worry."
Jenna's face was a pale transparent color and cold to the touch. It made me want to howl with anger and frustration. Her death had been nothing but an idiotic mistake, a nervous finger on a little iron lever. Nobody had wanted to kill her. Other mistakes in life could be set to rights. Why not this? What was so special about death?
Near Jenna's bier, standing so silently and motionless in the shadow of a tree that I might easily have passed right by without noticing him, was Rudy Strapp. "Hello, Rudy," I said to him. "How goes it with you?"
"Since you ask, I am not feeling so good, my lord."
"Did you get hurt in the fight today?"
"I have not felt good since the king got killed. It was my job to look after him, but I let him down because I was enjoying myself when I should have been working."
"I know exactly how that feels, Rudy."
"Albert brought me in out of the cold and made something out of me. When someone does that for you, you're not supposed to let them down. But I did. And now the queen is dead and I feel like I let him down again. Look at her. Did you ever see anyone so beautiful? We should never have let any of this happen."
"Tomorrow we will finish this."
"Yes, I hope so," said Rudy. "But I don't have such a good feeling about tomorrow."
"Meaning what?"
"When we decided to guard the king we tried to plug up all the ratholes, but we missed one little one and look what happened. So I think about tomorrow and I'm asking myself what is it that we haven't thought of? We have plenty of people here, and I know just how they feel. We could tear the goddamn drawbridge right off the castle if that's what we need to do. But what is that one thing we haven't thought of?"
Chapter Twenty
I awoke in the predawn with everyone else, and by sunrise our army was on the move. As I had suspected, there was little I needed to do besides put on my armor and get on my horse. The energy I had felt from the crowd the evening before had become even more palpable, even more irresistable; if I had done nothing at all, they would have dressed me and placed me on my horse in the course of their impatient preparations.
Dugdale arrived at the last minute with only a handful of his retainers. "I had trouble breaking away this morning," he explained, "but the rest of my people are already here. Very sorry about the queen, Darcey. Very sorry indeed. She was a lovely lady, and she will be mourned by us all."
"Thanks, Dugdale," I said. "I appreciate your kind words. Sir Leo, would you find a place for Lord Dugdale in the cavalcade?"
"Just here in front of Sir Maynard if you don't mind, my lord," said Leo, and Dugdale steered his horse into line. "We are ready, my lord," said Leo.
Feeling very strange, and not in the least bit in control of what was happening that morning, but rather impelled by forces ever so much more powerful than I was, I raised my arm as I was expected to do, and after a dramatic pause swept it forward. With that, the entire multitude began to move. It seemed clear to me that it was the multitude that moved my arm rather than the other way around.
We had a strong turnout. About two thirds of the people who had arrived the day before had come prepared to fight, and the fighters numbered over five hundred souls, more even than had marched with Albert. Of the other people, the majority dispersed into the woods headed in the direction of the castle.
After we had gone about a quarter of a mile I looked around at the knights and the lords I was riding with and said, "Gentlemen, we are marching at the head of a lot of raw power. But so far we have not made any specific plans."
"The plan as I understand it, my lord," said Sir Bradley, "is to capture Lord Hawke and chop off his head."
It was an idea which I still couldn't get used to, but so what? If we succeeded that day in killing the duke, I would have plenty of time to get used to it. And what else was there to do?
"Thank you, Sir Bradley," I said, "but do you think we're going to find the drawbridge down and the gates open?"
"No," said Sir Bradley, "unless the duke makes a run for it."
"Is that a possibility? What do you think, Sir Leo?"
"Anything is a possibility."
"What do you think, Renny? Will the duke run away?" Renny hadn't said a word all morning, and he looked so serious that I wanted to draw him out.
"Aren't you supposed to call me your majesty?"
It took me a moment to get over my surprise. "What do you think, Dugdale? Am I supposed to call this young man your majesty?"
"Actually no," said Dugdale. "Since he is under your stewardship until he is eighteen, it would be more appropriate to call him your royal highness."
"I'll never get used to this," I said.
"We all had trouble with the titles at first," said Dugdale. "But since this is a kingdom that we created, the less confused we are about it, the less confused the people tend to be. That was our experience the first few years. It seemed easier for everyone when we were strict about titles. Am I right, Griswold?"
"Perfectly right," said Griswold. "The more I insisted that everyone call me my lord, the more the farm girls wanted to jump in the hay with me."
"Well, your royal highness," I said finally, "do you concur that the plan is to capture the duke and chop off his head?"
"Yes," said Renny. "He killed my father. He killed Queen Jenna. Other people are dead because of him. Now it's his turn."
"Well," I said, "that's it then. At least we know what we're going to do."
A couple of hours had passed by the time we finished lining up our army to its best advantage across the meadow from the duke's army, which was lined up in front of the castle. On the castle battlements Lord Hawke was standing next to that massive chair that Jenna had said was a symbol of his defiance of Albert. He must have had it lugged all the way from his manor house. Was he planning to sit in it while he watched the slaughter?
Close to a thousand people were ready to rush together and mangle each other; a few hundred more were spread around the edge of the forest. The time of handclasping and embracing was over. These last-minute exchanges were necessarily all too brief, and the message was always the same: If we don't see each other again, it was good to know you. Now there was nothing left to do but fight.
"I still don't like this," I said to Leo. "Why did he decide to fight us in the field when he could box himself up in that castle? We outnumber them, don't we?"
"Yes, my lord,"
said Leo. "We have the margin by well over a hundred."
"Those peasants," I said, pointing at their line, "are not eager for this fight. They would all go home if the duke's cavalry wasn't riding herd on them."
"I'm sure that's true," said Leo.
"Is there something we haven't thought of? Has he got people hidden inside the walls ready to attack us when the time comes?"
"I don't think so, my lord."
"Then how do you explain this?"
"I don't know what to say, my lord. Maybe he's too tired to think clearly."
I had been watching the duke, but at that distance he was just a shape that paced on the battlement, or sat in that ugly chair.
"My lord," said Leo, "I think it's time."
We exchanged a look that was eloquent with unanswered questions about the human predicament. "All right, Leo. Let's do what we have to do."
I lifted my arm in the air and looked up and down our line. Then I saw the lone rider approaching the field on her distinctive mare. Wearing a sedate riding costume and wrapped in her customary aura of self-possession and infallibility, she entered the meadow between the two armies at a dignified trot, and no one yelled, "Hey, lady, can't ya see . . ?" We all knew that Marsha Bennett knew exactly what she was doing, and we were obliged to wait to find out what it was.
When she came to the middle of the killing ground, she reined in her mare, and after pausing to make sure she had everyone's attention, she said in a voice which could easily be heard along both lines, "Peter, James, and Michael! Come along with me!"
Thousands of eyes now shifted to Lady Bennett's three boys and their father, who sat their horses together among Lord Hawke's cavalry. "Aw, Mom!" exclaimed the oldest boy, snatching off his helmet in a gesture of frustration and protest.
Lady Bennett nudged her horse to a walk and rode directly toward them. "You heard me, Peter," she said. "James, Michael, come out of there this minute!"
Lord Bennett looked shaky and ill and very much on the defensive. "Marsha, this is intolerable!" he cried, trying to draw himself up in an imposing manner. But there was neither force nor vitality behind his complaint.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Terry," Lady Bennett told him. "I'll speak to you when we get home. Peter, James, Michael! I will not say it again!"
Furious and embarrassed but unable to resist her, the oldest boy clapped his heels to his horse and galloped off the field, down the road, around the bend, and out of sight. She paid no attention to him as he went by, instead keeping her focus on the other two boys, who rode out to meet her and reined in several yards away.
Turning her eyes one last time toward her husband, Lady Bennett shook her head. Everyone on that field was witness to that look of disappointment and dismissal. Lord Bennett was trying to look angry, but he was crumbling before our eyes. Finally he flicked the reins against his horse's neck and rode slowly away out of the press of the duke's cavalry, away from his wife, away from the crowd, away from his shame.
A scream of rage from the battlements: "Bennett!" But there was no response from the retreating figure. "Bennett!"
For just a second I thought I could see, even at that distance, the duke's eyes glowing bright red in their black sockets. "Bennett!" screamed the duke for the third time, his voice croaking from the strain. But Bennett gave no indication that he had heard. A dying man has his own priorities.
"Farmers!" announced Lady Bennett. "There is no need for you to stay and fight in Lord Hawke's lost cause. The harvest is beginning and there is work to be done. You are free to go to your homes!" Without waiting for a response, she urged her horse to a trot and ushered the two boys quickly out of the path between the two armies.
Now there was a chaotic jostling all through the ranks of the peasants in front of the castle. Lord Hawke leaned out over the battlements and bawled orders to the captains of his cavalry, who began yelling orders in their turn. Then the duke's cavalry began to press inward from the flanks to maintain the lines by penning the peasants between the horsemen. Marsha Bennett was standing up as high as she could in her stirrups, staring straight at me, and pointing with her outstretched arm at the center of the duke's unstable line. It was an eloquent message without any words. Well, don't you see what I've done for you? What are you waiting for?
If we could split that rebellious energy down the center and turn it outward toward the flanks . . .
"Forward now!" I shouted. "Quick step! Follow me! The center! The center!" Our army began to move, heavy at first, then faster and faster still.
"Lances now! Keep together! The center!" Down came our steel-tipped spears, all pointing right into the vortex of all that desperate energy. Glancing for a split second up at Lord Hawke, I had the fanciful impression that he was tearing that massive, carved chair in half with his bare hands, but I had no time to wonder about what I thought I had seen.
"Together now and charge!" I bawled at the top of my lungs and the army responded with a roar that must have echoed for miles with the vehemence of its pent-up anger as we hurtled across that meadow toward the castle. And the duke's line split just at the point where our lances were aimed; the two halves of the duke's line surged against the cavalry that sought to contain them. I was still shouting wildly, screaming and crying with all the feelings that had been stuffed inside me since Albert's death. It seemed as if all the frustrated feelings of my whole life were coming up at the same time; I was wailing like a banshee as our army charged.
To my left I saw Renny dashing ahead of the army at a full gallop with his sword waving high over his head. "Renny, stay with us!" I yelled after him, but he was already some twenty yards ahead of the charge; and little wonder he didn't hear me because everyone on that field was screaming. The duke's cavalrymen were screaming threats at the peasants who were screaming as they tried to make a run for it. We were screaming as we charged. All the people who ringed the field at a distance were screaming. The whole world was screaming. I lashed up my mount and took off after Renny.
Then Renny did a strange thing. He dropped his reins and his sword and both his arms went out to the sides in an odd, submissive gesture; he was falling backwards, relaxed and careless, and under him his horse was falling too.
Now my own horse was falling under me, and I hit the ground hard in my leather armor. I barely managed to roll with my fall and now I was running toward Renny and my brain was racing too, because I knew something had gone terribly wrong but I couldn't figure out what.
When I came up to Renny I could see right away that he was dead. His face was mangled and he was covered with blood. He didn't look like Renny or even like a boy anymore.
What could have done that to him? Looking over my shoulder I was amazed to see that our charging army was reeling and falling in impossible confusion, horses and people just tumbling to the earth like trees struck by lightning or wheat nipped off by the scythe.
Renny's horse was lying dead on its side and I was taking cover behind it even before I knew what I was taking cover from. There was an evil thumping under all that screaming that didn't belong in our kingdom and didn't exist in our time. It belonged to that time of the everlasting cacophony of the machines, and suddenly I recognized the thumping of that machine gun that was the sudden death of our entire cause.
Pulling my knees up, I tried to get my whole body behind the meatiest part of that dead horse. At the same time I was trying to get as flat to the earth as I possibly could. Peeking out from under my arm I could see our army in rout. Those who could run were running; those who could run no longer were crawling or kicking or just lying on the ground like rocks or logs. Our cheering section had fled into the woods. It was all over, and it had only taken a few moments.
"Darcey! Where are you? Come out and let's play!" The screaming had been replaced by the wailing of women and the groaning and crying of the wounded, and now I could hear the duke clearly, shouting in his triumph. "Where are you, Darcey? Don't you want to fight me? Is that you over t
here?"
Several puffs of dust showed me where the machine gun bullets were hunting along the ground for my flesh. The bullets slammed into one of the bodies on the meadow, flipping it rudely over. But it wasn't me. It was all that was left of Sir Maynard, his high spirits and his laughter gone, nothing now but bloody meat.
"You spoiled it, Darcey! This is all your fault, you know!" the duke shouted. "Can you hear me? Albert and I were playing for the castle and the woman, and I was winning because I always win, Darcey! It was none of your business!" I wanted very badly to get a look at him. For all my fear of the bullets I wormed my way toward the front end of that horse and peeped out with one eye between the shoulder bone and the slope of the neck.
"Come out, Darcey! Let's have a little swordfight, you and I. Do you like my sword? I knew I would never need it against silly old Albert, but I kept it for a rainy day. Wasn't that prudent of me?"
There he was, all alone up on the battlements, crouching over the heavy weapon that had been concealed in his chair. It was some tripod-mounted monster that fed from a bullet belt that trailed down into the innards of the chair. Now he squeezed off a burst, but the bullets weren't aimed at me. If he had known where I was, he could have blown me to pieces, horse or no horse, for I was fairly close to the castle wall. For the moment I was safe, but I couldn't just lie there. His soldiers would surely be riding out soon to do the mopping up. They would find me, and off I would go to the dungeon or the chopping block.
"I don't see you out there, Darcey," bawled the duke. "But I'll find you, never fear. You're through making your little messes in my kingdom. No more chances now!"
I considered jumping to my feet and making a dash for the woods, but the odds did not appeal to me. I had no options. I couldn't run and I couldn't hide.
