Harding asked: “Is that the sum of his demands?”
Grant shrugged. “There will be small things to be discussed. But you get your own city back, and your own Prince. He will promise that.”
I said: “As he promised to fight with us against Andover? As he promised my father friendship?”
Grant glanced at me but did not answer. He looked unhappy, as though what I said had brought him back from the safe neutral ground of arguing policy to the closer, harsher truth of hospitality polluted, confidence betrayed. It was Blaine who said:
“Shut up, boy. Keep silence in the presence of your elders and betters. You are here on sufferance, so do not try our patience.”
Grant asked: “What answer do you give me to take back to my Prince?”
Harding said: “Tell him we have received his message. We will consider it, and send him word.”
Grant bowed. “I will take that news to him. I hope we may soon drink together at the peace feast.”
No one answered him. Blaine said something that sounded like a curse, almost under his breath. Grant left the tent in silence, and we heard the jangle of harness as he mounted his horse and rode away.
• • •
The Captains wrangled until dinner, finding no common agreement. Some, like Blaine, were for defying Jeremy, but could put up no suggestions of how to do this, or none that carried weight. Others, fewer in number, argued that we must accept his terms, having no choice. I managed to hold my tongue, though with difficulty. It was true what Blaine had said: I was there on sufferance and there was nothing to stop them putting me out. It was more important to know what was happening than to offer opinions which in any case I knew would be treated with contempt.
Dinner was brought to us at the middle of the day. It was hard tack: soup, salt beef, hard biscuit, a small measure of ale. The army had its rations but in no great abundance. We had looked to living off Andover’s land. It would not make us popular to raid our own farmers. The rain had set in heavily and ran in rivulets between the tents; the horses stamped miserably at their tethers and the men were full of gloom and grousing. A raw breeze blew chilly from the city whose walls, once our safeguard, now mocked us.
When talk resumed, there was a change in atmosphere. Harding talked more. After the herald left he had listened for the most part, sounding out the others for their views. Now, with patience and skill, he was trying to influence the Captains to his own way of thinking. And that way, it became more and more clear, favored acceptance of Jeremy’s offer.
“And if we do,” Blaine shouted angrily, “what guarantee do we have with our men disarmed and guarded? He will leave us our swords, will he? And what good are twenty swords against an army? Even that fool of a boy”—his small eyes darted in my direction—“could see that. Jeremy’s promises are worth nothing. Nothing! Is he to swear by the Spirits? When he has already defied them?”
“He has defied the Spirits that led Robert Perry astray,” Harding said. “So he is favored by other Spirits who are more powerful. Or else Robert was abandoned and it is all a game. You said yourself that there are Spirits and Spirits. But if he swears by the Great Spirit Himself, I do not think he will break his oath; or if he does that his men will follow him.”
There was a murmur of agreement: an oath made on the Great Spirit must be binding. Harding said:
“We must not deceive ourselves: he has us in the hollow of his hand. He speaks softly now because he hopes for peace, on his own terms. But if we defy him I would give nothing for the safety of our womenfolk. And the men will not be easy with the thought of a Romsey army walking their streets unchecked. If we choose to fight I would not be sure that they would follow us. And how can we fight? Blaine has said it: the walls Stephen built are the strongest in the land. We would only break our bones on them.”
He spoke calmly and reasonably, therefore persuasively. I saw some nod their heads, among them Greene. Harding went on:
“If we surrender now we do not surrender for all time. He lets us keep our swords, but I do not think any of us will forget what happened this morning. There will be a time to fight again. Not for the sake of a Prince whose ambition is well ended, but for our honor.”
“He may bind us in a treaty of peace,” Greene said.
“No doubt he will. And we will keep it as long as they do. But who has ever known a treaty of peace that the other side could say they kept in everything? And if they break it, we are free.”
He was winning them, and not to his plan of action only. His aim, I saw, was deeper. The city lacked a Prince and he was advancing his claim. Blaine had shown himself rash and the Captains, smarting from being tricked, wanted a man of guile and caution. They had chosen Harding to speak to Jeremy’s herald. If they followed him now they would acclaim him even before the men of Romsey rode away.
He had been cunning, too, after stressing the inevitability of surrender, in raising hopes of revenge. Ripon said:
“They will break it! And by the Great, when they do . . .”
Other voices rose, on the same note of resentment but also with new assurance. Then one said, strongly:
“Wait!”
It was Peter, my cousin. He had not spoken in all the previous talk. Looking at him I had thought him stunned, perhaps even more than I was, by what had happened. But he spoke now with strength and confidence. On that single word they listened to him.
He said: “I can show you how to win back the city and not lose a man.”
Blaine began to say something but stopped. Harding said:
“This one has gone mad. We know what blood runs in his veins.”
Ignoring him, Peter said to the other Captains:
“Or would you rather bend your knees to Jeremy, pay him gold, watch him drive off Winchester cattle and load his carts with your women’s jewels?”
“If you are not mad,” Greene said, “tell us how.”
“I have conditions first.”
“You name conditions!” Blaine said. “A Perry, commoner born, naming conditions to us . . .!”
He stared at Blaine. “Yes, I name conditions.”
His voice was level, without anger but with certainty. Greene said:
“If this is a jest, Perry, you may find the laughter cut short. Say it quickly.”
“There are two,” Peter said. “The first is that a ransom is paid, but not to Romsey. We will pay gold to the Christians so that they can build a church to their god.”
There was a confusion of protest, laughter, incredulity. I heard Harding’s voice: “Mad, as I said. Do you want more proof?” Peter let them run on for some moments. Then he said, and they went quiet as he spoke:
“This will be done because it is through the Christians that the city will be regained.”
“How else?” cried Blaine. “We had forgotten those warriors of ours. I can see them, driving the Romsey men down the High Street with their crosses!”
Peter ignored him. He said:
“You know that in Winchester men despise them, but do not harm them. It is not so everywhere. In some cities they are harried by Seers who have them tortured or killed for refusing to worship the Spirits. And even where they are safe for the moment they have no confidence that the safety will last. If Ezzard does not persecute them, the next Seer of Winchester might. So they take their precautions.”
He paused before going on. He had all their attention, even Blaine’s.
“I have considered this all day. As you will guess, I have it from my wife. She was bound to keep the secret, but told me. Her trust in me binds me also. If I break it, as I think I must, then I demand a tribute for her god, to turn away his wrath. Do I get this from you?”
Harding stared at him with cold, appraising eyes.
Greene said: “If it is worth it, you get it.”
“It is worth it. A tunnel that goes under Stephen’s great walls. Cramped and dirty, but men can crawl through it. It was the way of escape for the Christians and can be a way in for men who will take the North Gate and open it to our army. I know where it starts. Will you give them gold and the right to build their church?”