Whitemantle

by Robert Carter

  Will went on again, leaving behind the steeples of the Inns, then past the lordly houses of Arandel, Mells and Southfolk, until an almost unseen figure passed close by and crossed his path, pulling him suddenly into a doorway.

  His aura flared green and he threw up a self-protective hand, but immediately he felt it seized and bent down hard in a grasp that forced him to his knees.

  ‘Agh!’

  ‘You fool!’

  ‘Master Gwydion!’

  ‘Shhh!’ The wizard’s eyes accused him. ‘Now that was a fool’s errand was it not?’

  Will understood but was unrepentant. He shook himself out of the wizard’s now-relaxing grip. ‘You have your errands and I have mine. Were you watching when we fell? Did you see what happened to Chlu?’

  ‘I saw the pair of you lighting up the entire City with your rude magic.’

  ‘I didn’t do it on purpose. I was falling to my death.’

  ‘And every Fellow within a dozen leagues must have turned his head upward when you leapt off that vane.’

  ‘I didn’t leap, I fell.’

  ‘You should not have been up there in the first place.’

  Will felt anger churning inside and stabbed a finger at the wizard. ‘Don’t you tell me what I should and should not be doing! I was following my feelings.’

  ‘Oh, dangerous man! It would be better for you if you got far away from the City now. The Fellows are very greatly roused up and most unhappy with you!’

  ‘I don’t care about them. And I’m not running away.’ He reached out and prevented Gwydion from turning aside. ‘I asked you if you saw Chlu fall. Did you?’

  Gwydion’s face was granite as he looked down at the presumptuous hand on his sleeve. ‘Chlu came down on the far side of the Spire. I cannot say what happened to him.’

  Despite his anger, Will wanted to tell the wizard all that had passed, but he could see Gwydion was in no mood to receive complicated news. Instead he demanded, ‘Where are Willow and Bethe?’

  ‘Safe.’

  ‘I said “where?” Answer me fully now, Master Gwydion, or I swear—’

  ‘At the palace. Do you remember Jackhald, who helped us raise the Blood Stone from the well at Ludford? He’s been made captain of the guard here. He’s agreed to find you lodging.’

  ‘Well, that’s something at least.’

  ‘But no thanks to you. Follow me, for we have work to do.’

  Will pulled up short again, his hotness cooling. ‘Master Gwydion, that’s not the way to the White Hall.’

  ‘Indeed it is not.’

  ‘Then I’m not going that way. I know the importance of your work as well as anyone, but it’s as I’ve told you, I have one or two errands of my own, and the first of them is to see my wife and child!’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LEIR’S LEGACY

  Three days later, on the day of Duke Richard’s arrival, Will announced his intention to go down to Luddsgate to see the duke’s army make its triumphal entry into Trinovant. Willow said she wanted to come and insisted that she would bring Bethe too.

  Will agreed only reluctantly. He was worried that another attack might be mounted. In the time since their encounter on the Spire nothing more had been seen or heard of Chlu, but in quiet moments when Will turned his mind towards the City he could feel an ache in his bones. It told him that his twin was alive and nursing malice somewhere within the walls.

  Willow had already told Gwydion of Will’s plan to go down to see the arrival. Now she went further, suggesting that the wizard should break off his single-minded search for Maskull’s magic tower and come along also. ‘Surely,’ she said, ‘it’ll be helpful to take note of which nobles are riding alongside Duke Richard in the parade. Shouldn’t you see what order of precedence they come in?’

  The wizard was about to say something in reply, but then he stared at her hard, as if reading another intent in her request.

  ‘Willand’s drawn,’ Gwydion said. ‘And you feel that in him, don’t you?’

  ‘Drawn? What on earth do you mean, Master Gwydion?’

  ‘Drawn towards the City, or more precisely someone at present biding his time out there. Does it not worry you, the prospect of another quarrel? Another bolt from the blue? I think it should. Though it will be something else next time.’

  ‘Will’s already thought about that,’ she said, shutting the idea out and replacing it with another notion – that perhaps not all of the harm that had flowed from the magic bracelets and into the wizard’s wrists had been emptied from him, for he seemed darker and wearier than ever before. ‘Now, are you staying or coming?’

  Now that the last moment had come, Gwydion decided he would indeed accompany them into the City. They took a small river boat which rowed them to the Saltwharf Steps. After landing, they went up the slope towards Luddsgate, just managing to avoid the Spire precincts, and pressed in with everyone else who had lined the route.

  Thousands of people had come from all parts of the City. They filled the streets, crowding upon balconies and even climbing up to roof-ridges and chimney stacks to see the great Duke of Ebor admitted through the Luddsgate.

  The gate itself, Will saw, was a broad tower of limestone banded with Slaver brick and carved with the achievements of the kings of old, just as the Eldersgate was carved with northern dragons. Gwydion explained, ‘The duke has chosen to enter Trinovant by its grandest gate as a reminder to all the inhabitants where their loyalties ought to lie. It was upon the timbers of this great portal that the burgesses of the City, bare months ago, nailed a daring proclamation.’

  ‘What did it proclaim?’ Will asked.

  ‘They bravely declared all the gates of Trinovant barred against the return of their own king – until “redress and remedy” might be found for the duke concerning the king’s actions in besieging him at Ludford Castle.’

  ‘Good for them,’ Will said.

  But Willow was not so sure. ‘It doesn’t seem all that brave of the townsfolk in hindsight. They must have been thinking about their own skins, and what Lord Sarum and Lord Warrewyk would do to the City if its people sided with the queen.’

  Gwydion examined the gate expectantly. ‘It looks like the City’s gamble has been good. Queen Mag and her friends were up to their necks in debt with every merchant in Trinovant. That is a matter that would take some settling before she could be welcomed back.’

  Willow’s head craned forward with the rest of the crowd as the first beating of drums and blowing of shawms was heard on the west wind.

  Will lifted Bethe and sat her astride his neck, and she rode there agog at everything she saw.

  ‘Why doesn’t the duke go straight to the White Hall?’ Will asked. ‘That’s the place where all royal business is done, isn’t it?’

  The wizard waved a dismissive hand. ‘First, Friend Richard must be at pains to show how much the people love him. The governance of Trinovant depends on shows of respect as much as it does on force.’

  ‘Then he’s going to the Guild Hall?’

  ‘To be received by the City’s notables – the Lord Mayor, his Bailiff, the Sheriff, and the Aldermen of the twenty-six wards. All of these tom-fools he will shower with promises and praise, and they will do him a show of honour in return before he sets himself to the real work of the day.’

  ‘Do you think he’s testing the water?’ Willow asked.

  ‘Certainly he will be watching how the people regard him. And showing them what force he has at his command, in case there’s a riot in the offing.’

  ‘A riot?’ Willow asked in alarm. ‘Is that likely?’

  ‘He has already made the king call a Great Council.’

  Will snapped round. ‘Well, thank you for telling me! When?’

  ‘Every lord in the land is ordered to present himself in three days’ time.’

  ‘To bend the knee before King Hal?’ Will asked.

  Gwydion nodded. ‘Richard wants those who can be persuaded to stay – where he can
keep an eye on them.’

  ‘Yes,’ Willow agreed. ‘And all those who will not come will be forced to declare as much.’

  ‘Three days…’ A vivid memory of Lord Warrewyk’s bloody handiwork came into Will’s mind. ‘Well, apart from the noblemen who were done to death following the battle at Delamprey, I imagine there are quite a few others who won’t be turning up.’

  The wizard paused, considering carefully. ‘Perhaps more lords will heed the call than you imagine. Of course, there will be diehards, men like Henry, Duke of Mells, who have gone into the north with the queen, but there are many more who, in truth, want only to tend their own flocks. They will pay lip service to whichever camp is the stronger. If I am any judge, most of the lords who attended the Council at Corben Castle will attend here also.’

  Will dropped his voice to a murmur. ‘Then they must be sweating rivers just now – a few days ago half of them swore they would see Duke Richard’s head chopped off for treason. Some of them would even have done it themselves if it meant getting a share of his lands.’

  ‘But do not forget in whose interest lies the peace now, Willand. Friend Richard wants to maintain the comfortable fiction that Hal is back on his throne and that all is now right with the Realm. Richard will be graciously pleased to forgive all who come to Trinovant to kneel before the king.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’ Will looked hard at the gate. ‘Will Richard settle for that? For myself, I wonder what he’s really up to.’

  Gwydion tapped his nose and winked. ‘Soon we will know how it is going to be.’

  Will saw a band of men appear under the great arch. City waits, they were, musicians in motley garb who played merrily upon sackbuts and shawms and beat upon tabrets with long sticks to herald the coming of the king. Each of the Guilds had sent liverymen, and they lined the road. Near them were arrayed the serjeants-at-law in their green finery, and walking at their centre the King’s Serjeant, carrying a golden mace upon his shoulder. Behind him came the Recorders and Justices – the judges of the law, and regulators of the people.

  ‘I’m surprised Duke Richard trusts to his safety at all,’ Will murmured, ‘with so many kinds of lawyer gathered in the road to greet him.’

  ‘Ha!’ Gwydion sniffed. ‘Our falcon does not mind a few toads strewing his path when he has the king himself in his talons. But if you are asking about the niceties of the deal, I will tell you that all the legalities have already been tidied up. Several edicts have been issued in the name of the king. These are writs that overturn those given out at the Great Council that was held under the CorbenTree – the ones that attainted Friend Richard. None of it was ever ratified, and so says the king: “All that was Ebor’s, is Ebor’s once again.” You see how much has been done in preparation for Duke Richard’s arrival? Not least all the counter-magic that I have expended!’

  Despite the heat, Will felt a frostiness issuing from the wizard that seemed to confirm what Willow had said. He wondered, and not for the first time, what exactly happened when a wizard began to fail. Gwydion himself had said that the end of the present Age was nigh. What would become of Gwydion before he went into the Far North in search of his philosopher’s stone?

  Will shut his eyes, feeling a familiar nausea move into the pit of his stomach. His heart began to thump faster. Chlu was somewhere in the crowd, searching, coming ever closer…

  He closed his mind, guarding his talent, doing the equivalent in magical terms of hanging back quietly in the shadows. He was not sure whether that would be enough to hide him from his twin’s murderous awareness, but when Chlu appeared again he would meet him face to face. Beads of sweat stood out on Will’s forehead, but the feeling of danger passed away and his heart slowed again. He wiped his face and scanned the crowd, but there was no one familiar to be seen there.

  ‘Are you expecting anyone in particular?’ Gwydion asked from the side of his mouth.

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘You seem pensive. Scared perhaps. Are you expecting Chlu?’

  Will grimaced at the wizard’s imputation, and said uncomfortably, ‘The only reason I escaped from the Spire is that Chlu fled his true name.’

  ‘You should have told me that sooner.’

  ‘Should I?’

  ‘Do you feel him now in the crowd?’

  ‘He dare not attack me here.’

  ‘I agree. But only because there is no clear shot of you. He will not keep away for long.’

  ‘I hardly need you to tell me that.’

  ‘Nor will the fact that you know his true name afford you even a meagre measure of protection for long, for sooner or later Chlu will speak with Maskull about the matter and Maskull will tell him the truth.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘That you can only use his true name to destroy him by destroying yourself. He will gamble that you have not the skill, or more likely the courage, to use a power like that.’

  ‘Then he’ll be wrong!’ Will said, but he instantly regretted his unconsidered reply.

  ‘Is that so?’ Gwydion nodded judiciously, absorbing the remark and weighing it carefully. ‘Is that truly so, Willand? For, if it is, then you are as great a fool as any that I have ever met.’

  But now the music had grown louder and the ironcollared dragonets were roused to groaning and flapping their stubby wings. The keepers at the capstans heaved on the bars to make the silver beasts draw back into the depths of the gatehouse and the stalls where they were out of sight.

  High up between the towers of the Luddsgate itself stood a great, weathered statue of the ancient Brean king, Ludd. Men had climbed perilously to bedeck it with garlands and oak branches, and now sweepers were rushing to clear the way below. Fellows from nearby chapter houses came with incense burners and sprinklers of rose-water to disguise the air so the horses would not bolt at the stink. And then, almost too suddenly, the waiting was over. Three heralds in royal tabards came in sight. Then Duke Richard of Ebor appeared, bare-headed, sitting astride his famous white warhorse. Save for his helmet, he rode in full battle armour.

  Through that tremendous portal Duke Richard passed in splendour, but it was not his own sword that he raised aloft, but rather King Hal’s. He lifted it up like a sign – or perhaps a boast – while a few paces behind, on a little bay horse, rode the quiet, plainly dressed figure of the king himself.

  Duke Richard’s intention, Will knew, was to show himself to the people – this was Richard of Ebor, the king’s great saviour and Lord Protector once more. He must be seen to be the hero who had saved the sacred sovereign from the grip of greedy friends and a wicked wife. But Will read another message, for in the middle of it all the humble, pale-faced figure of the king seemed hemmed in by gaolers – Sir Thomas Cyrel and Lord Bonavelle, square-chinned men who sat upon massive chargers, and who else but the iron-handed seneschal, Sir Hugh Morte, loyalest of Ebor retainers, bringing up the rear?

  Yet, imprisoned though the king was by these huge forces, a moment came when, to Will’s mind at least, everything was stood upon its head and Hal appeared to be the serene embodiment of kingship. The whiff of dragonet made the larger destriers skittish, and though they were blinkered and under short rein it was only with difficulty that their illtempered riders were able to control them. Yet through the commotion the little bay walked on at ease, as if enfolded by the mystic aura that only a true king possessed.

  And then clarions called – the sound of silver trumpets recognizing the return of the king to the City, and Will tried to gauge how much of the cheering proclaimed the arrival of the king and how much his captor. There were many in the crowd who waved wreaths of victory, or pinned on their breasts the badge of the fetterlock and falcon. They called out loudly, ‘A Ebor! A Ebor!’ But despite their raucous shouts, Will still detected King Hal’s subde empowerment, for many more of the people were glad to have their monarch back than cared how his deliverance had been accomplished. And Will shook his head in amazement because although Duke Richard knew it not, the
truth was that he had placed himself wholly in the king’s power.

  As the leading columns of the duke’s formidable army entered the City, drums were beaten at their head and the penetrating buzz of crumhorns and the drone of bladder pipes waxed suddenly loud. Pans of sorcerer’s powder flared up in shows of light and smoke, and petals scattered down from the arch upon the helmeted heads of the soldiery. Suddenly, the whole scene became a riot of flags bearing the colours of the victors. Helmets and bright armour glittered as ranks of mounted knights came on steadily, five abreast. There was a clattering of hooves on flagstones. A great cheer was raised and all the ghastly, glorious panoply of war came surging through the gate, edged weapons displayed to awe the minds of those who gazed on.

  Will frowned as he saw the train of great guns. The three greatest of them were named ‘Toune’, ‘Tom o’ Linton’ and – perhaps worryingly – ‘Trinovant’. They had been named for three cities by way of a warning, for these three had the strongest circuits of walls, and the names were a boast that nothing could withstand the might of these engines of war.

  Close after the guns came Lords Sarum and Warrewyk, and riding between them Edward, Earl of the Marches and heir of the House of Ebor. Will saw his wife’s eyes as her head turned to follow the duke’s son. Edward was handsome, a manly figure, made even more attractive – or so it had once seemed – by a cultivated air of superiority that was copied from his father. It had been a youthful jealousy of Will’s that Willow must have been in love with Edward.