The Prince in Waiting, Page 4

  I do not know how long the earth’s shivering lasted—minutes, I thought, but probably I was deceived. To be without that firmness and solidity underfoot, which one takes for granted, even for ten seconds can seem an eternity. I stayed holding the reins after the rolling stopped, the horse and I both quivering as though the quake were dying away in our nerve ends. But nothing more happened. Dogs which had been barking in the distance fell silent. The air was calm. I remounted my horse and rode into the city to see what damage there had been.

  Not a great deal, as it happened. Three houses had collapsed; there were two dead and five or six injured. By the standards of those who remembered the old days it was very little. But because the earth had been quiet for so long—I could not recall such a thing though my father told me there had been several during the first few years of my life—there was fear that the evil times were returning. In the city I found people talking of sleeping out in the open that night, abandoning the city as they had done in the past, and some were already loading their goods on carts. A long line had formed outside the tent-seller’s shop in the High Street and it was said he was asking twenty pounds for his smallest tents and finding eager buyers. The bakers had sold out of bread; all the food shops were besieged.

  As the day wore by, though, with no more shocks, the panic died away. There were some who continued to move out of the city, but not many, and I saw others mocking them as cowards. Even if more quakes came the risk of staying was worth taking, provided they were no more severe than this. Our houses, after all, were built to withstand the smaller shiftings of the earth. (Our ancestors had built in stone and metal, their houses hundreds of feet high, and had died under the rubble of their tumbled pride.) Our houses were of wood and the beams so laid that they yielded one against another under pressure, but the structure itself remained intact.

  In the afternoon a rumor spread which caused more alarm: that the Prince and his family were among those who were fleeing to open ground. Others were minded to follow suit and the streets began to be crowded again. Then my father and the other Captains rode out with troops of horsemen and branded the rumor as a lie: the Prince was in his palace and would remain there. The people should stay in their houses. Through Ezzard, the Spirits had advised this.

  Before supper I was called to my father’s room by Ben, the polymuf who waited on him. He was hunch-backed and had only two thickened fingers on his right hand, one of them showing two separate bones beneath the skin. I found my cousin Peter there already. They both looked grave.

  My father said: “You are old enough now, Luke, to listen to warrior’s business. But you know that, without my permission, you do not talk of things I have told you outside these walls.” I nodded. “There is trouble in the city.”

  I waited. Peter said: “This may also be a rumor, Father.”

  My father shook his head. “They were seen. And the Prince’s rooms in the palace are empty. It is no rumor.”

  I asked: “Edmund, too?”

  “Yes,” my father said. “But it is no disgrace to him. He obeys his father in this, as is proper. But for Stephen to run like a scared child . . .”

  “He may find the going easier than the coming back,” Peter said.

  “That is what I want to talk to you about. As Peter knows and you too may have heard, Luke, there have been grumblings before about this Prince of ours, who has kept us five summers behind walls. If the Captains could have agreed on a successor he would have been deposed a year ago. This has brought them to the sparking point. They are agreed—all but his near kin and even some of those—that an end must be made.”

  Peter said doubtfully: “How? We have sworn loyalty to him, all of us. We asked the Spirits to take vengeance on us if we break our vows.”

  “Who crowned him?”

  “Ezzard.”

  My father nodded. “In the name of the Spirits. And our oaths were made to him whom the Spirits, through Ezzard, named as Prince. What can be named can be unnamed.”

  “Has Ezzard done that?”

  “The Captains have spoken to him and he has called a Seance for tomorrow noon.”

  “And will the Spirits unname him then?”

  “You know Ezzard. He makes no promises. Nor can he. But the Spirits guard the city. Providing there is someone to take his place, I do not think Stephen will rule tomorrow night.”

  “Who have given way,” Peter asked, “the Blaines or the Hardings?”

  They were both great families, the Hardings with the longer lineage but the Blaines with, in recent years, more wealth and power. When my father had spoken about the difficulty of the Captains in agreeing on a successor to the Prince we had, I had guessed he was referring to the rival claims of these two factions.

  My father said: “Neither as yet.”

  “But if they don’t . . .”

  “Neither will accept the other in authority over him. But they talk of the possibility of both accepting a third choice.”

  “Who is that?”

  My father did not answer right away. I thought from his silence that it must be someone of whom he disapproved. He said slowly:

  “This is why I called you to talk with me. There are risks, a dozen ways in which it could lead to disaster; and the disaster would fall on a man’s sons as well as on himself.”

  I understood then. I did not say anything. I could not mistake my father’s meaning but it was still incredible. He had been known as a great warrior in the time when the city’s army went out to fight its enemies and I knew he was well liked among the Captains. But he had been born common, ennobled within the lifetime of his elder son. They could not think of making him Prince in place of Stephen.

  Peter said: “The honor is well deserved, sir. But . . .”

  My father said: “I have put the questions to myself. Shall I tell you the answers I found in my mind?”

  We waited for him to go on. He did not hurry. He was a man who thought slowly, except when he had a sword in his hand, and watched his words. He said:

  “I found two answers. The first is that if the Blaines will not see the Hardings set above them, and the Hardings will not accept the Blaines, neither would wish to bow a knee to such as the Greenes or the Farrars.” These were both important families in the city. “They would rather have a Prince whose father’s adz marks can still be seen on the beams of their houses, which he helped build as a carpenter. It stings less.”

  I was not sure I agreed but I held my tongue. I thought of Henry and Gregory whom I had beaten in the Contest along with Edmund. With them, I felt, it would sting more, not less, if my father became Prince.

  “The other answer stems from the first. A Prince of poor lineage will be a Prince, they may think, whom they can rule. He has the title but the Blaines and the Hardings will have the power. Until such a time as one or the other feels strong enough to act. And then such a Prince is someone that can be discarded, having fulfilled his purpose.”

  “The Spirits . . .”

  “If the Spirits unmake one Prince they can unmake another. I do them honor, but Seers have acted under duress before, and the earth did not open up. I do not know that Ezzard would have called the Seance for tomorrow without a little prodding.”

  Peter said: “You can refuse, if you wish. No one can say it is from lack of courage. You could think it too high an honor.”

  “Do you say I should refuse?” my father asked him.

  Peter said: “There are arguments on both sides. We accept your decision whatever it may be.”

  “And I will make it on my own judgment. But tell me what you think.”

  “You have said it: they plan to use you. It might be wiser to say no.”

  My father turned to me. “Luke?”

  “Take it, sir!”

  “You speak fiercely.”

  “He is very young.” Peter smiled at me, though it was with affection. “And after winning his jeweled sword he lusts for action.”

  “Yes,” my father said
. “A good fault, but a fault. Your advice is better, Peter. You are beginning to acquire wisdom. All the same, I shall do as Luke urges. I am to be a weapon against the Prince, discarded when the crisis is past. But they may not find it so easy. I knew a Captain once, many years ago in the fighting against Alton, who was proud of a sword that was longer and sharper, he claimed, than any man’s in the army. It slid off another’s shield and hit his foot. It did not take it off, quite, but the surgeon did later. Weapons can turn in the hand.

  “And there is another thing. Our forefathers were only common men but they lived in this city and fought for it. The Captains are right to turn against this Prince. The die has been cast and there must be bloodshed. For the city’s welfare, for the common good, we must have a swift end to the struggle, not a long-drawn brawl that leaves us weakened.”

  Peter said: “We follow you, sir.”

  He bent his knee in the ceremonial bow that is made by a subject to his Prince. My father stared at him for a moment and then, smiling, clapped a hand on his shoulder.

  “I am well defended! I had already decided what to say to Ezzard, but I shall do it with a lighter heart for that.”

  “To Ezzard? Not to the Captains?”

  “To Ezzard first.” He laughed. “We must give the Spirits time enough to prepare.”

  • • •

  I met Martin next morning by the Ruins. There were other ruined buildings in the city, where people had not thought it worthwhile to clear the ground and build again, but these were by far the greatest and, it could be seen, of one vast building. Once, out of curiosity, I had measured the length of the mound of stone and it was more than two hundred paces. It staggered the mind to think of what it must have been like before the Disaster. Of course our Ancestors, as we knew, had used powers of magic for which the Spirits at last had punished them: how else could so monstrous a thing have been erected? They had buried their dead in its shade—there were worn stones bearing names and dates set in the ground—and it was said the Christians had used it as a place of worship. That, too, was hard to believe when one thought of the Christians in the city, a handful of wretches living mostly in the hovels by the North Gate, so warped and degraded that they accepted polymufs as members of their sect and as equals. (They would have accepted dwarfs, too, but got no chance: dwarfs had their pride.)

  Although no one now would be so foolish as to build in stone it was used in foundations, and from time to time men took loads from the Ruins for this purpose. In doing so paths had been made in toward the center, and one led to a place where there was a hole in the ground and stairs leading to a vast cavernous place underneath. Boys would occasionally dare one another to venture down and the dares were taken; but no one went far in or stayed long.

  Nor would I have done so, on my own, but Martin wanted to and I was determined not to show fear in front of him. We had explored it together, finding strange things—figures of men and women, carved life-size in stone, mildewed robes and banners, a pile of small pieces of colored glass. We also found a door, almost hidden by a heap of collapsed masonry, leading to a small room, and on Martin’s urging we made a den there, furnishing it with a couple of wooden chairs we found in the outer part and taking in a stock of candles to give us light. It was cool in summer, warm in winter. We had sat and gossiped there through many a blank, wet day, private and secure from interruption. Martin, I knew, went down on his own as well, but I did not. And this morning I demurred at going down at all. It was not actually raining though the sky was a threatening gray. We stood and threw small stones at marks among the rubble. I was on edge, thinking of the Seance at noon and what might happen. I had not said anything to Martin, but he himself spoke of it.

  I said, astonished: “How do you know that? It is supposed to be secret to the Captains.”

  He smiled. “The news is running through the city like wildfire. That the Prince is to be deposed and your father made Prince in his place.”

  Awkwardly, I said: “I’m sorry. I could not say anything. I was sworn to secrecy.”

  He nodded. “I thought so.”

  In his place, I knew, I would have been jealous and resentful because in the past we had kept no secrets from each other. But his mind was easier than mine, less given to brooding. I said:

  “It may not happen like that, my father becoming Prince. So far it is only something suggested.”

  “It will happen. Everyone is sure of it. I suppose I shall see less of you from now on.”

  “I don’t see why.”

  “As son of the Prince.”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “And the Prince in Waiting.”

  This was the title given to the Prince’s heir, who normally would expect to be Prince after him. Edmund had not had it but his elder brother, Charles. I said:

  “But even if my father is Prince, that will be Peter, not I.”

  “Your mother will be Prince’s Lady, not his.”

  “It is nothing to do with mothers. Peter is my father’s eldest son, therefore he will be Prince in Waiting. He must be.”

  Martin shrugged. “That is not what people say. They say it was an omen, your winning the jeweled sword in the Contest.”

  “Then they say nonsense!”

  I spoke angrily but I was not sure what it was that made me angry. My mind was confused. A magpie flew down into the Ruins and I threw a stone at it but missed by yards. I turned away and walked toward the High Street. Martin followed me. We walked together but in silence.

  • • •

  It was always dark inside the Seance Hall, there being only a few small windows to give light from outside, but since the Spirits did not manifest themselves by day the curtains had not been drawn and one could see without the aid of lamps. Only the first few rows were occupied, since the summoning had been merely of Captains and their sons. Ezzard stood in front of us and above us, on the platform that was carpeted in black, surrounded on three sides by and canopied in black velvet. He wore his Seer’s robe of black silk, trimmed with white at cuffs and neck, and his white face stared down at us, sharp and deathlike.

  He said: “The Spirits be with you.”

  We muttered back: “And with you, Seer.”

  “The Captains of this city,” Ezzard said, “have called for guidance to the Spirits, as their forefathers did before them, begging the Spirits to help and advise them in a time of need, in the distress of the city. As Seer I have consulted with the Spirits and they have made answer: he who was Prince . . .”

  There was a noise in the doorway. Ezzard halted his speech. We all looked and saw Prince Stephen standing there, Charles and Edmund behind him. After a pause, Ezzard went on:

  “He who was Prince shall be Prince no longer. Forsaking the city in fear he loses right to the city’s fealty . . .”

  Prince Stephen interrupted him. He shouted:

  “Ezzard, I left the city on your advice!” Ezzard watched him in silence. “On the warning of the Spirits, given through you.”

  “No.”

  “By the Great, it is true!” I heard his voice crack. “You told me . . .”

  “I told you that the Spirits saw danger, to you and to your house. Anything more came from your own fears. And the Spirits spoke truly through me: the danger is here and now but your peril is of your own making, not due to the shivering of the earth.”

  “You let me think . . .”

  “The Seer counsels the Prince; he is not required to teach him self-control. Even if the danger had been of earthquakes, would not a true Prince have looked after his people instead of fleeing from the city in panic?”

  It was a charge that could not be answered. Prince Stephen tried, floundering:

  “You said the Captains would see to it . . .”

  “And they have.” Ezzard looked away from him, to the Captains. “He who was Prince shall be Prince no longer. In his place the Spirits offer Captain Robert Perry for the approval of his peers. Does any man say no?�
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  There was silence. Ezzard said:

  “Who acclaims?”

  We all shouted together, in a roar which echoed. Ezzard said:

  “Therefore, as Seer . . .”

  Prince Stephen broke in again:

  “I am Prince and this is treachery. I challenge the traitor to prove himself with his sword.”

  My father had no need to respond. He had been acclaimed by the Captains and so was Prince already. But we watched as he rose to his feet. He said:

  “Not here, in the House of Spirits. We will see to this outside.”

  Ezzard said: “You are a dead man, Stephen. No man can fight when the Spirits forsake him.”

  There was an open yard between the Seance Hall and Ezzard’s house, which stood behind it, with a high fence on either side. We watched them fight there. By the standards that judges use in tournaments Stephen was a better swordsman than my father, who had learned his skill in battle, not from a fencing master. But under any circumstances my father’s strength was much the greater. His sword smashed aside the thrusts and parries of the other, carelessly it seemed. And as Ezzard had said, what man could fight when the Spirits had forsaken him? Stephen’s last throw had been hopeless when he made it, a desperate alternative to the miserable wandering exile which otherwise was the best future he could expect. He retreated a few times round the ring and then rushed on my father, offering no guard. My father’s sword took him just beneath the ribs. He gasped and fell forward on it and blood gushed from his lips.

  • • •

  I was in my aunt’s house the next day when my father came, his first visit to her since he had been made Prince. She called him Sire and bent her knee, but he shook his head, laughing.

  “Leave that to the courtiers, Mary! It suits them better. I come here for peace and quiet.”

  She ordered Gerda to fetch ale and herself knelt and undid his boots. He said, looking round the small room, smoky from a fire that would not draw on a day of blustering wind:

  “But we must find you a better place than this.”

  “It is good enough for me, Bob,” she told him.