One reason I had felt no alarm even at the launching of the attack was that I had taken them for polymufs. They were nearly naked and I saw that their skins were not white but blue. This blue now was stained with red and examining them one saw that it was not pigmentation but paint, which covered them from their foreheads to the soles of their feet. They were true men. Any polymufs there may have been among them had either not joined the attack or had got away safely.
Their armament was pitiful, consisting of small daggers, the largest less than a foot long. One of our soldiers had been wounded, but although his arm had bled freely the cut was a surface one only. They had not even hamstrung any of the horses which had probably been the greatest risk we ran. I think the horses had frightened them as much as we had.
The peddler made more of all this than was reasonable. I heard later that during the skirmish he had buried his head in his hands against his horse’s neck and might have been our other casualty had the soldiers near him not dealt briskly with his assailants. Now he hymned our bravery and discipline in extravagant terms; one would think our few minutes of parrying and beating off these decorated dervishes was a feat to be compared to the storming of the walls of Petersfield in the teeth of deadly cannon fire. I reminded myself that he had probably never seen warriors in action before but I still found his enthusiasm surprising.
We left the dead and wounded where they lay, presuming that when we had gone their comrades would return and dispose of or aid them as they thought best. Edmund had ridden ahead with Greene and Hans took his place at my side. The dwarf was happy as I had never before seen him, his face glowing. He held his sword up over the pommel of the horse. Blood dripped down the blade and stained the hilt. I said:
“There is a rag in my pouch if you wish to clean it.”
Hans shook his head. “No, Captain.” He gazed at the sword a moment longer and then resheathed it. “I will leave it as it is.”
• • •
In the middle of the next day we reached a village standing on the confluence of two eastward-flowing rivers. The people here were not savages but wore linen clothes, exotic in style and color like the peddler’s. He was known to them and they crowded round us in curiosity and welcome. They fed us well and would take no payment. We were ambassadors to the King and must be given due hospitality.
In fact, as the peddler told us, we were less than ten miles from the city. We set out to cover the last stretch in the early afternoon, resisting the efforts of the villagers to ply us with more cakes and with sweet sticky drinks that even when measured in tiny pots two inches high made one’s head spin a little.
We rode up a valley between hills that drew in on either side and were backed by high mountains. The road ran close by the river and was in good condition, and we saw farms and houses, the latter so painted as to look like the dwellings of dwarfs; but the peddler, when I asked him this, said no—the Wilsh loved color and used as much of it as they could.
And gradually the houses were more numerous and packed closer together. I was riding in the van with Greene, the peddler between us. I saw what was plainly a forge, its fire visible through the open door.
I said: “That is strange, Yews, surely—a forge outside the city?”
He shook his head. “Not outside, Captain. We are in the city now.”
Greene, as astonished as I was, asked: “But where are your walls?”
“There are none.” The peddler smiled. “We have no need of walls.”
SIX
KING CYMRU’S DAUGHTER
ROAD AND VALLEY TURNED A corner and there was no more doubt that we had entered a city: on either side rose buildings, high built and crowding together up the slopes. They were altogether different from those to which we were accustomed. Apart from their tallness, which could have arisen from the narrowness of the valley and consequent scarcity of land, they formed a coruscation of color, a wild profusion of towers and domes and spires. Their tops looked like spears, thrust up to the sky in bright defiance of its lowering grayness. All was sharp and pointed: the slim square towers had spikes at their corners and the domes were tined like so many gaudy onions.
And suddenly our presence was known and welcomed; everywhere faces looked down from windows or slim balconies and there was cheering and the waving of gay cloths. The pigeons must have been sent from the village to give word of our coming. This was made fully evident when, clattering along a road built of smoothly joined blocks of granite, we found the way blocked by other horsemen. Greene signaled us to walk our horses, and I saw his hand go from the gesture to touch his sword hilt. As mine, for reassurance, had already done. Not that we would have much chance against armed warriors in their own city.
But these offered us no defiance. Their snorting horses formed two lines, on either side of the road, with a single rider between. One was aware of his magnificence first. I thought he must be a polymuf giant, so tall he was, until I realized that much of his height came from the helmet which rose high above his head and ended in an even higher plume of white feathers that swayed and jiggled with each movement of his horse. Nor was that all. His breastplate gleamed silver against a yellow doublet with great puffy sleeves, and the red leather boots which came high up his thighs had ornamental silver trimmings down the sides and a row of big silver buttons at the top. I saw something else as we drew near but could scarcely believe it. The boots ended in false points, fully nine inches long, which were silver tipped. How in the name of the Great, I thought, could a man mount wearing such monstrosities; and what would happen should he need to dismount in a hurry?
The attendant warriors though not reaching his splendor were vivid enough. We would have looked shabby by comparison even on setting out, and we had traveled far and in conditions that offered small opportunity for grooming. Doubtless we were a sorry lot in their eyes. And yet . . . their boots, too, were pointed. Not quite to the length of those of the solitary rider but I would not have cared to sit a horse while wearing them.
Their leader raised one hand, open with facing palm. I noticed a broad belt and a long sword hilt, both thick with colored stones, but his aspect was peaceful. Greene signaled again, and we halted.
The man said: “Greetings. I am Kluellan, Colonel of the King’s Guard. King Cymru bids you welcome to his city and his palace.”
Greene made courteous reply, his mustache points bristling but his manner easy. He had a talent for such things. I watched Kluellan while formalities were exchanged. He was not a big man but small, his face dark and thin with a wispy beard. And his horse, though caparisoned with a luxury beyond anything I had seen even in Ladies’ jennets, was not remarkable: I would not have exchanged any one of ours for it.
This ceremony over, the Colonel rode beside Greene at the head of our column while his horsemen flanked us. The spectators made it a festive occasion, shouting and cheering and giving vent to bursts of song in surprising unison and tunefulness. The warmth of our welcome was as much beyond normal here as it had fallen short in Marlborough. It resembled a return after a victorious campaign and looking at some of the flushed faces and hearing the wild cries I wondered if they could have been drinking. But I dismissed the notion as absurd: it was not yet mid-afternoon.
• • •
I had thought, from the gleam in the peddler’s eye when my brother gave him gold and from the tawdriness of the ornament which he had himself presented as a gift for Ann, that his land might be as poor in precious metals as he had admitted it was poor in stock. His greed over the gold box had made my suspicion sharper.