“Roddy ...” Groenfil’s voice was barely a whisper.
“A few more paces.” If we weren’t close enough, all would be for naught. I stumbled over a root; with a sharp intake of breath someone caught me.
Finally, I murmured, “All right.” Four shieldmen came forward, each man dropping on one knee behind his tall bronze shield. Groenfil took my shoulders, propelled me firmly behind the shields. He’d promised as much to Tantroth before the duke of Eiber would countenance our mission.
I took deep breath, began to shout. “Small men of Norland!” The problem was, I lacked proper insults. My vocabulary wasn’t all that extensive, and Danzik couldn’t be consulted. “Little men! Hriskil!”
Within the distant copse, a cry of alarm.
I shouted, “Voe graftig rez qa fartha Caled?” Where is the crazy king who invades Caledon? “Wake your drunkard King Hriskil!”
“Enough,” snarled Groenfil, and pulled me to the ground. “Give them time to rouse themselves.”
Within the wood, a flicker. A fire arrow arced into the sky, and another. They fell nowhere near us. We all lay on our bellies, absolutely still.
Except one, of course.
The Norland camp swarmed like an aroused beehive. After a time I got cautiously to my knees. Our shield bearers promptly did the same. I roared to the Norlanders, “Why do you let a drunk lead you?” Or, I hoped that was what I said. It might have been, “Why do you drink your leader?” In Norlandic, words don’t fall in their rightful place.
“Soa embas Caledi!” I am the envoy of Caledon. “Do you not remember me at your camp?”
A volley of arrows whistled past. No fire, just deadly iron tips.
“Llewelyn! Tell your master you cannot conquer us! I walk with impunity through your camp! Soa Rodrigo, embas Caledi!” As signal, I turned, shouted it again toward our walls.
“Now!” Groenfil shoved Coster, who yanked the gag off our captive’s mouth.
Danzik struggled desperately to free his bound wrists. “SA REZ CALEDI! MODRE KO!” He was beside himself. “ER CAMPA SA! AXT HOMU!” It’s the Caled king! Kill him! He’s in the field, twenty men!
From our walls, a dozen fire arrows launched. The nearest landed about a dozen paces behind us. Our closest shield-man dashed toward it, snatched it from the ground, raced back to us.
“HRISKIL, IV OT, DANZIK! MODRE RODRIGO!”
I rasped, “It’s time!”
Our runner dived to the ground, fire arrow sputtering. Instantly, three torches were thrust at it. In a moment they caught.
Without ceremony, Coster and three men lifted the bound Norlander off his feet, ran with him toward our walls. “HRISKTL!” Danzik’s voice receded. “MODRE REZ!”
Three shieldmen were on their knees, palms braced on the earth. Groenfil’s iron grip on my arm helped me to climb on their waiting backs.
I threw off the black cloak. Under it was the garb I’d worn as envoy. Our yeomen thrust the torches at my face, blinding me before the enemy. Well and good; I wouldn’t see the Norland arrow that snuffed out my life,
I bellowed, “Iv ot, Hriskil! Rez Caledi qa vit embas!” The soft hum of arrows. Something flicked past my ear. “Mor Rodrigo, qa han vos modrit!” Look on Rodrigo, whom you cannot kill!
“Aiye!” Behind me, a squeal. An arrow had gone home.
Groenfil hauled at my forearm, but I twisted free, thrust my face at the nearest torch. “Soa Rodrigo Caledi, embas ur rez!” From the wood, the thud of feet, the clank of iron.
“Retreat, you lunatic!” Groenfil hauled me off my perch. “Go!” To the lot of us, “Go!”
Our men flung aside their torches. We sprinted madly toward Pezar.
“Rodrigo? It’s ninth hour!” Tantroth sounded annoyed. “Awaken and dress yourself. You’re a disgrace.”
“Ohhh.” My head pounded. How late had we caroused into the night? “What of Hriskil?”
“No sign.”
“I told you.” I suspected I hadn’t seen my bed ’til near dawn. I’d had drink, and my recall was fuzzy. I poked out my head, blinked in the sharp lance of sunlight. “What of the men?”
“Long roused.”
Last night, reaching the wall, we’d scampered up the rope ladders and onto the rampart, bearing our wounded companion, an arrow through his shoulder. He would recover, unless the wound turned putrid. I was immediately surrounded by wildly excited guardsmen, some of Stryx, some of Eiber.
An odd madness had come over me; I capered gleefully about the wall, and whirled Genard into a spin when he tried to grab me. Suddenly others joined my dance and frolic, and I led a line of shouting, laughing, careening soldiers all the way to camp. We dug out bread, threw chickens into pots, uncorked kegs of beer. In an hour the whole camp had joined our revels; Hriskil must have heard us in the far corner of his encampment. Tantroth and Groenfil had done their best to put a stop to it, but I said nay; we had until noon, and would make the most of it.
Now, in morning’s light, I tried manfully to put myself together.
“Is he up?” Groenfil, outside my tent, his voice curt.
“Barely.” Tantroth.
I stumbled into my breeches, grabbed a jerkin. “Good morning, my lords. Would you break fast with me?”
Groenfil glowered. “Is our play done, sire?”
“Please, sir.” I waved at the camp. “See you no difference?”
“They’re tired, befuddled, logy with drink—”
“What of their fear? Look at them!” It was true; our men, though preparing for battle, had lost their sullen dejection, the anxiety that ate at their souls. If our camp wasn’t exactly festive, it certainly didn’t lack for good cheer.
And we’d done more. Among the Norlanders, seeds of doubt had been sown. By what arcane power did Rodrigo walk among them unharmed? They wouldn’t, I hoped, conclude it was by sheer good luck. And if our frolics kept us carousing the night, what, the Norlanders might wonder, did their Caled foe know about the morrow?
None of it could do us harm.
Tantroth grunted. “If Hriskil had attacked at dawn—”
“Half of us would still have been up.” I waved it away. “Raeth’s gone, and a meal won’t be the same, but let us sit at table.” I laced my boots.
Hriskil filled the field with shields, more men than a just Lord of Nature would allow under one standard. To my surprise, no horse. They began a slow march to the wall as the sun reached midpoint in its arc.
My whole soul reached out to sense the Rood. But no muddle obscured our thought, no cloud befuddled my wits. Perhaps Hriskil must recover from the Rood, as I the Still; when opportunity arose I would ask Danzik.
Much of the battle was fought by bowmen; ours loosed shafts into the advancing yeomen; theirs aimed primarily at our archers on the hill.
If Uncle Raeth’s defense had a fault, it was that the battlements were too narrow to allow easy movement of men on the ramparts. But as needed, we crowded reinforcements onto the ledges, and for five hours, it was bloody work. We lost seventy men; they lost hundreds.
Abruptly, a blare of horns, and the Norlanders fell back.
We had won the day.
Bloodlust ebbing, I paced the wall, shield arm aching from the weight of the bronze. “Lord Tantroth, what think you?”
“That we ought attack Hriskil’s camp within the hour.”
I blinked. “We’re tired, our wounded need care, the Norlanders far outnumber—”
“Precisely. Could they imagine you so foolish as to attack?”
“I hope not.” I waved away the absurdity. “So, what will he try next?”
“A real attack.”
“But, the terrain is against ...”
“Fah. Saw you ladders, or towers? Catapults?” He shook his head. “No, today was but a probe.”
“Hundreds dead, in a probe?”
“To him, the cost is but a trifle.”
Despondent, I rode back to camp.
I trudged to my tent.
&
nbsp; “Imps eat you, evil king!”
I whirled? “Qa diche?” It took me a moment to realize we were speaking Norlandic.
Danzik bestrode his wagon. I took a hasty step back; he might at any moment leap for my throat. His guards were taking no chances; spears were pointed, daggers out. From Danzik, a volley of oaths, only some of which I grasped. But they made clear his rage. I threw up my hands, left him to his choler.
At a campfire nearby, I came upon my bondsman Bollert playing idly with a sharpened stick, and stopped so abruptly Pardos collided with me. “Boy, have you naught to do?” My tone was sharp.
Bollert scrambled to his feet. “Can’t fin’ Tanner.” He scratched his flank.
“That’s not my concern. Have you a place to sleep?”
“Last night, unner cart.”
“Find Tursel. Tell him I said to find you shelter. And bedding.”
“Aye, King.” He shambled off.
I opened my tent flap, peered in. My night clothes were set out neatly, and my soft bed of duck feathers invited my recline, but I hesitated. I wasn’t yet ready for sleep.
Unthinking, I looked about for Rustin, and caught myself with a sharp exhalation of breath. The tent seemed so ... empty. But Anavar had his own, and Elryc too, though he shared with Genard. I was beyond seeking solace—I must be king, and strong. Yet ...
I turned about. “Pardos, must you step on my shadow? Look, there’s a good man, stand back by the fire. I won’t leave the clearing: Elryc and Anavar and Groenfil’s tents mark my boundary. Please, else I’ll go mad.”
“A knife in the night—”
“Would you disarm my very brother? No, don’t answer; I wouldn’t know of it. Please, cannot my kingdom be a few paces breadth?” At last, I cajoled him, and with relief headed for Elryc’s tent.
“... say as you wish, Lord Prince, but I know what I see.” Anavar.
I stopped dead, outside the closed flap.
Elryc said, “Roddy’s impulsive.”
“That may be his end.” Anavar’s tone was somber.
Rooted to the spot, I shooed away a fly.
“Why tell Elryc?” Genard. “Roddy barely listens—”
Anavar’s voice was hot. “Last night, we beseeched him not to risk himself as his own envoy; did he answer? He kicked me into the dirt, rode off on a madman’s errand.”
“At the wall today,” Genard said excitedly, “Tantroth wanted to attack their camp. Roddy just waved—you know how he does it, m’lor, the dismissal that makes you feel so small. Rode off without a word.”
“A pity.” Elryc. “Tantroth was softening. I could feel it.”
Genard sniffed. “Think of Tursel, m’lord. Or Lady Soushire. She’s near leaving camp.”
“He knows.”
“Imbar won’t leave his tent. I ought tell Roddy, but he’d laugh, and I’d answer with spite, and he’d break his vow not to speak ill to me.”
Elryc said gently, “It’s not your place to tell him, Genard.”
Anavar cried, “So many wished him well. If but he’d listen!”
Elryc sighed. “Rustin could guide him. He’ll heed no other.”
Yes, brother, betray me. I knew you had it in you. My fist knotted.
“But he tries so to be a good king.”
Abruptly, my eyes stung.
Elryc added, “Recall that, Anavar, when he chafes you.”
“I’ll stay,” said Anavar glumly. “I gave my oath.” But then, “Would that I had not.”
I stumbled toward the clearing. Pardos started in alarm; fiercely I waved him away. I was all right.
No, I wasn’t. I was struck to the heart with a blade I’d myself honed.
Whom else could I blame? My brother? Anavar, whom I’d shamed? Genard, who loved only his master Elryc?
Yet, it wasn’t fair. I did try to be a good king. They spoke nonsense, they were mere children. I need not listen to—
I need not listen.
Appalled, I wandered to the fire, sank onto the damp grass, twirled the stick Bollert had dropped.
Rodrigo, who art thou?
Son of Elena Queen, of Josip her lord prince, grandson of Tryon, conqueror of—
Rodrigo, what art thou?
Seventeen, and crowned king of Caledon, liege to the Lords Groenfil, Soushire, Tantroth—
What art thou, truly?
I dare not say it!
“Sire, are you—”
“Get thee gone!” My voice was raw.
I’m an arrogant youngsire. Vain and foolish.
No more?
Frightened. Is that so—yes, frightened. And so lonely. When I wake in the night, I bite the pillow that my grief not be heard. I miss him so.
What resources hast thou?
Stryx, and the castle. The army about us. The Still, though I can’t value its worth. Cumber, though without Uncle Raeth—
Within.
I’m stubborn; sometimes that’s good. I’m terribly afraid of capture, of a gory death. But I quell my fear and summon the pretense of courage. It’s almost as if I had it in truth. And at times ... I speak well, and call forth loyalty beyond ... my cause is parlous, yet so many have—have—many—
Why dost thou weep?
I’m ashamed.
Of?
What I am. What I do. Must I say it?
Silence.
I hurled the splintered stick into the fire.
I appoint advisors and won’t hear their counsel, guards whom I won’t let guard. Vassals I swear to uphold, and kick into the dust. And there’s my cruelty, that has no restraint except what I myself provide. And I can’t curb myself. Oh, I’ve tried. Did I not appoint Rustin regent and guardian of my person? Did I not abdicate my manhood to put an end to cruelty?
And now?
Now I’m lost.
Oh, my prince ... are you?
Yes, Rust. Look at me, head drawn to knees, rocking before the fire. I’m so ashamed. Why cannot I master myself? Would you help me, Rust?
The crackle of flames.
Rustin, I can’t abide your soft voice that flits unexpected in the shadows of my soul. If you’re real, speak!
Silence, of a grave.
Rustin, I command thee, speak!
The distant sounds of camp.
Sir, my heart breaketh; I beseech thee!
Nothing.
Now must I acknowledge it: I was truly alone.
I drew myself closer to my knees, rocking in my calamity.
Sixteen
IN THE DAWN’S pale light I shivered, raised my head. A flutter of wind stirred the ashes of the fire.
Across the firepit, two vigilant bodyguards brandished spear and sword. To either side, some paces removed, others.
Ignoring the ache of my bones, I turned my head. Behind me, three guards, at a respectful distance.
Before them, on the damp grass, cross-legged, Anavar sat wearily.
Near my tent, on a campstool, Elryc, his eyes hollow, huddling under a blanket. At his side, solemnly, Genard.
Near my tent, standing, Tantroth, his arms folded, speaking quietly to Groenfil. Across the way, Tursel. Even Danzik’s smoldering gaze bored through me, under the canopy of his wagon.
All eyes were on me.
Not often does one attend the dissolution of a king.
I tried to get up. My bones were stone; every muscle throbbed. I grasped a guard’s offered arm and staggered to my feet
“Sir ...”
“Not now, Anavar.” My voice was a frog’s croak. “How long have ... ?”
“As long as you.”
Gently, I took his face between my palms. “Go, refresh yourself. Warmth, fresh clothes, hot drink.” A pat of his cheek that might have signified fondness. I cloaked my embarrassment in high speech. “We thank thee, Baron, for thy attendance.”
Still, he persisted. “What do you now?”
I shook my head. No more words of resolve, honeyed promises beyond my keeping. And, Lord of Nature help me, I would
not be judged the man I’ve been.
Rustin, if you will not aid me, I must correct myself. It’s a task I dread, but ... I cannot abide what I am.
“Drink, sire.” A steaming cup of mulled cider.
My mouth watered. “Later, Pardos.” When I’ve earned it.
My calf was knotted. I limped from the campfire. Where to start?
“Farang vos, Rez!” Danzik.
As good a place as any.
I made for the Norlander’s wagon, tried to hoist myself over the rail. Every muscle shrieked in protest. If you don’t want aches, Roddy, don’t squat the night at a campfire’s fading embers.
Halfway over the rail, I hesitated. “Fea, Guiat?” Please, Teacher? Though in Norlandic, fea could mean “permission,” or “may I,” or ... at any rate, it would serve.
Danzik snorted. I took it for assent and slipped over the rail; one could carry humility too far.
He rattled the chain that tethered him to his bed.
“I’m sorry about that. Guard, take it off; he’s only to be secured at night.”
“Or when you’re with him, sire.”
“Kadar? You’re not ... what do you here?”
“I’m bodyguard to the king. Pardos gave me leave,” he added hurriedly when my scowl failed to abate. “I swore to obey his—sir, I must guard you. I gave oath to—please!”
“Release my teacher.”
“Han guiat!”
“Yes, you are. Kadar, don’t pout, sit beside me with dagger drawn, he won’t hurt us. Will you, Danzik?”
A grunt that wasn’t very reassuring.
We got ourselves settled. A small form detached itself from the knot of watchers, swarmed over the rail to crouch beside me. Genard, the shadow of my lessons.
I nodded assent. “I was about to ask about his fury of last night. What he shouted—qa dicha ... diche?—Genard, how do you say ‘dicha’ when you mean yesterday?”
“Diche, m’lor’.”
“Yes. Vos diche—that I couldn’t buy ...” Somehow, I wrenched it into the Norland tongue.
Danzik bared his teeth. “Why I teach?”
“Because I ask it.” I made my tone meek. “What can I not buy?”
“Ot!” He pounded his chest. He launched into a long discourse, which I struggled to follow. I ... owned? ... held? ... his body; that was fortune of war. I could kill him. But he was no traitor. I had no vade. To make him play my games with Hriskil was han kevhom. I couldn’t buy vade of a man. Not ‘buy.’ Torsa. Heavily, Danzik got to his feet, alarming Kadar, and pantomimed snatching something, hiding it under a cloak. “Torsa!” he growled.
The King (Rodrigo of Caledon Book 2) Page 23
