“Neither, sire. I seek an army.”
His cold eyes studied me and he pulled his grizzled beard.
“You beg our aid?”
I shook my head. “I beg nothing, sire. I demand it.”
“Demand?” He was incredulous. “Of me?”
“She was your gift,” I said, “in return for slaying the Bayemot I gave you thanks. I took her in good faith. She played me false and, through her, enemies have stolen my city from me. In breaking faith with me she dishonors you, and all your people. She is your daughter, Cymru. I demand your aid so that I may kill her and her lover.”
His face had changed while I was saying this. Coldness and surprise gave way to heat and anger. By the time I finished it was full of rage. He would have me killed, I thought, and vowed I would not die quietly. I would take some of them with me, perhaps Cymru himself, before they cut me down.
But the rage and anger were not for me. He said:
“All you say is truth. You will have your army. And I will ride with you when you go to take your revenge.”
EIGHT
THE BATTLE OF AMESBURY
FROM THAT MOMENT BLODWEN’S NAME was never mentioned in Cymru’s court.
They were good haters, the Wilsh. I remember what Blodwen herself had said, as she rode between Edmund and me on the day of the hunt, the day of the killing of the Bayemot. “In our country when a man makes an enemy it is forever.” She was Cymru’s only child. He had loved her and indulged her greatly. But she had dishonored him, and that was enough. I think he would have watched her die with a smile on his lips.
Snake told me, and I believed him, that my own life had hung by a thread in the red room that afternoon. Had I shown weakness, he said, Cymru would have ordered my death because of the news I brought. I would have been a reminder of his disgrace, to be removed without pity.
But his acceptance of my vow to take revenge, and his joining with me in it, set me even higher in his regard than during my first visit to Klan Gothlen. Snake told me this also, before I had truly realized it.
“She was his daughter,” he said, “but he would wash his hands in her blood. He would have killed you had you begged or flinched; and now you are his son. I do not say it lightly. Fond as he was of her, that is a lack he has always felt, and you fill it. No man who is wise will cross Luke of Winchester in this city from now on.” He smiled. “It would be almost as bad as defying the King himself.”
He spoke without rancor. He was a devious man, as I suppose a Chancellor should be, but I had come to respect him. His manner showed no resentment but no false flattery either. Behind the slyness of the surface he showed the world, there was some honesty.
And the truth of his forecast of my preeminence in the King’s favor was borne out the next day. I was talking of the new tactics that would be required with the use of Sten guns, and Kluellan interrupted. He took something I said as showing ignorance of the qualities of Wilsh troops, and indignantly challenged what he thought was a slur. As Colonel of the Guard he commanded the army in the field, directly under the King, and thought himself its spokesman. I held my peace, but Cymru said:
“Enough, Kluellan! You are older than Luke, but can learn from him.” Others were present: Captains and civilian nobles. He raised his voice. “Luke is my lieutenant in this enterprise. I would have that kept in mind by all of you.”
As I had guessed would be the case, the Wilsh were not shocked by the weapon I had brought them, but fascinated. At the demonstration I gave they clapped and shouted with delight. I had had a wooden target set up, but this did not satisfy Cymru. Snake, with his usual care for his monarch’s future pleasures, had arranged for wild boar to be caught and kept in pens within the city; so that whenever the weather should prove fair enough to tempt Cymru to a hunt there would be quarry to be released. Cymru called for one of these to be loosed now, at the end of the narrow yard in which we stood.
It was a half-grown boar, not polybeast as far as I could see. It stood in front of the trap from which it had been set free, undecided what to do, alarmed probably by the noisy chatter of the Wilsh nobles.
“Now, Luke,” Cymru cried, “show us what this gun of yours does to that young tusker.”
Except for food, one killed beasts only in sport; and there was no sport in firing bullets into a defenseless and most likely frightened animal. It was not even moving. But I remembered that Cymru’s idea of a hunt was firing crossbow bolts from behind wooden covers. And it was Cymru I relied on to help get me back my city and my pride. I wasted no time in hesitation but raised the Sten gun to my waist and fired a burst. The boar gave one sharp squeal as the bullets smashed it to the ground, then lay there silent in its gore.
The Wilsh nobles broke into loud applause. Many, even ladies, rushed forward to examine the dead animal, and I saw one lady dabble her delicate fingers in its blood. I hid my disgust. These were my people until I won my own city back.
Cymru said: “Have it taken to Lewin.” That was the Master Cook. “We will dine on roast boar tonight. Tell him I shall require one of his best sauces to go with it.”
• • •
Hans turned armorer; and I wondered what old Rudi would have thought of it, recalling his regret when Hans, his last son, chose not to follow him to the forge. It was, of course, a very different kind of armory. In the King’s name I had put Hans in complete charge of the making of the Sten guns. He was in any case the only man who had the knowledge for it. I could use the weapon, but I could as easily have flown up to the top of one of the Wilsh mountains as make it.
He found good and willing craftsmen here: not only dwarfs but polymufs and true men also. When I visited them in the forge-house I found a great bustle of activity, with the roar of flame and the clang and hammer of steel added to by a clamor of voices. Unlike our Winchester dwarfs, who were silent workers for the most part, the Wilsh could not even shape steel without chattering; and there were times when, one of them first taking up a tune, they would all burst out into singing.
I asked him one day how matters were progressing. He said:
“Very well, sire. They are quick to learn.”
“By spring . . .”
“We shall have two hundred and fifty guns for you. More maybe. And ammunition enough and to spare. Will that do?”
“It will do. Hans, without you I could do nothing. These Wilsh soldiers are better than I once thought, but with equal weapons they would have small chance against our warriors of Winchester, and there are other territories to get through first. I think all the cities will fight against an army that comes from beyond the Burning Lands, whether it offers defiance or no.”
Hans looked at me. “I think so, too, sire.”
“I made you a warrior,” I said, “and now you have become my armorer to help me. It will not be for long. When spring comes and the guns are ready you can be a warrior again. And this time one of my Captains.”
I had thought he would be overjoyed. For a dwarf to be a warrior was a marvelous thing; but this would make him noble.
He said slowly: “It is a great honor, sire. But . . .”
I was amazed. “But what?”
“I am not sure I desire it.”
His doubts did not stem from lack of courage, as I well knew. He had as brave a heart as any man I had met.
I said: “Why, Hans? Because you would be commanding Wilsh, against our own people?”
“No. I serve you against anyone. And I am making guns to kill them.”
“Then why?”
He picked a Sten gun up and gazed at it. “I cannot remember a time when I did not want to be a warrior. There was a place where I could climb the citadel wall and stay there hidden, watching the drilling and jousting and sword play. The longing was greater because it was an impossible thing.”
He put the gun down and looked at me.