“By the Great,” Greene said, “I will! And I do not think any will refuse.”
I heard voices speak approval and none opposing.
Peter said: “That is one condition.”
Blaine asked: “And the other?”
“My father is dead. He died by treachery, murdered by his host. Jeremy dies for this. There will be no ransom for the Prince of Romsey.”
They roared assent, and he put a hand up to stop them.
“That is not the condition. I did not think any of you would let him live. My father was a great Prince. His Spirit requires more than just revenge; it needs his own blood to follow him in power, his son in the Great Hall.”
I saw them look at me. Blaine said:
“He is a boy, too young to govern himself, let alone a city like ours.”
Peter looked at me, too, and smiled. I saw the smile but could not read what lay behind it. He said:
“You mistake me, Blaine. My father had two sons. I was first born. I claim his place.”
There was silence again and his unwavering, confident gaze went round their faces. Then Greene broke out:
“Do as you say, Perry, and you have my voice!”
The rest followed. Even Blaine and Harding were forced to an assent. Blaine gave it grudgingly but Harding showed no emotion in his voice.
• • •
The rain stopped toward evening. The sky above the city was painted in scarlet and orange. Clouds hung huge over the walls, first red then purple, at last black against a deep-blue sky. Occasionally one saw a head silhouetted above the battlements, one of Romsey’s men. It was not until full darkness came that the army marched, quietly and by a circuitous path, to take up its position outside the North Gate.
I watched with Edmund. Peter, with two other Captains, one of them Greene, and a band of picked men, had left for the hut, a broken-down shack thought to be abandoned years before, under whose floor the tunnel started. They would come out into the house of the Priest, as the leader of the Christians was called, near the North Gate and from there it would be easy to fall on the Romsey men defending that gate from behind. Our army waited for the sign, a torch flourished in the gateway, which would tell them the way was open.
Time dragged by—minutes, hours it seemed. We did not speak much. We were each occupied with our own thoughts. Mine were confused and bitter. This morning the thought of seeing Jeremy’s head set up in place of my father’s would have been a joy to override anything. It was so no longer. The blackness of despair was back in my mind, the sense that all was useless: one could not live without hope, but always hope betrayed.
It was cold even though the rain had stopped. I started to shiver but I think it came more from melancholy than from the night air. I tried to stop it, not wanting Edmund to notice, but could not. He shifted beside me, and said:
“Luke.”
“Yes.”
“When this is over, what do you plan to do?”
“Don’t know.”
I answered shortly so that he would not hear my teeth chatter. He said:
“If you thought of leaving the city, going north perhaps, I would go with you.”
I did not answer and he did not speak again. I was too bitter and wretched to realize what he was offering: that having weathered his own grief and disappointment he would still go into exile with me as a companion to me in mine. Later I understood. Friendship meant much to him, more than it could ever do to me.
We waited and my limbs shook. I set my jaw until it, my neck, my whole body ached with the strain. Then the light shone ahead, the dull tramp of feet went past us, and soon, following after the army, we heard the distant sounds of the struggle. Not for long. We had the advantage of surprise and our men were fighting in their own streets. Inside half an hour the last of Romsey’s warriors had laid down his arms. Inside an hour fat Jeremy’s head topped the palace gate.
• • •
I went back that night with Edmund to the house in Salt Street, though I did not sleep. Next morning, after breakfast, I slipped away without a word and went to the palace. Because he would have insisted on coming with me I said nothing to Edmund. Whatever I faced was mine, mine only, and I would face it alone.
I stood for a while in the crowd that stared at Jeremy’s head. They were in a festive mood, many drunk already, and from time to time they roared for their Prince, Peter, to come and show himself. I saw Christians there and men slapping them on the back as comrades while they looked dazed and disbelieving. A player was singing a song made up for the occasion:
“Under the walls bold Peter came—
Took the gate with a torch of flame—
And so made good his father’s shame . . .”
A new roar drowned it as Peter came out on the balcony. I slipped away and in at a side door. I passed polymuf servants; some of them bobbed to me but others did not. Two soldiers stared at me and one laughed behind my back. I went to my room and waited for whatever was to happen.
Martin found me there, staring blindly out of the window at wet roofs under a gray sky. He said: “Luke,” and I turned.
“Ezzard wants you.”
“He will find me here.”
“The risk is too great.”
“Poor Ezzard.”
“For you both. You must come.”
“No must,” I said. “I have had enough of must from Fate itself.”
“Remember what the High Seers said: that you have a mission and when the time comes you must obey. You promised it.”
“I never told you that.”
“But I know.”
“And you still believe that nonsense?”
“More than ever.”
There was passion in his thin face. The tricks by which Ezzard had won him over must have been good ones. I argued for a while but he had more conviction than I, who was waiting for I knew not what except that it could not be good. I went with him, through the palace and out into the street. Someone jeered after us. He did not lead me toward the Seance Hall but along a side street. We stopped at a house near a tavern and, after a quick look round, he drew me in.
Ezzard was waiting in a room upstairs. He looked more white and gaunt than ever. He said:
“Well done, Martin. Leave us now.” As the door closed, he added: “We must get you out of here, Luke, and quickly.”
I said: “I came for one thing, sire. To curse the Spirits who led my father to his death, and the Seer who spoke for them.”
He showed no anger. In a quiet voice, he said:
“Curse if you will, but do as I say. Your life is not worth a halfpenny here. Even if Peter does not order it, someone will have you killed, thinking to please him. You were named heir and Prince of Princes. Alive, you challenge his power. Things may be different later but these are days of doubt and murder. Leaving Peter out of it, there are enough who would rather see one Perry left than two. Your only hope is in flight.”
“I will not flee.”
“Listen, boy. You are a fool but not a complete fool or you would not have been chosen. Even though he is dead, would you do your father’s will?”
“If I knew it. Are you to tell me? But for you he would be living still.”
“Did he fear death?” I hesitated. “You know better. He thirsted for it. If the Spirits guided the assassins’ knives he thanked them for it with his last breath. Is this not true?”
I was silent. He said: “Your father lived to do his duty and prepare for your succession.”
“My succession!” I laughed. “As Prince of Princes.”
“Yes. And the prophecy lives while you do. The Captains know that. So does your father’s Spirit. Can you deny it? If you will not ask me what he would have wished, consult your memory of him. It is fresh still.”