Then the huge cat came bounding over the meadow straight toward Dim. For a moment, he thought he was going to be praised, thanked, honored—but its mouth yawned wide showing teeth like scimitars, and Dim had just time to realize what a horrid fool he had been before he died.
THE PEASANTS CAME trooping into the meadow outside the walls of Runnymede, brandishing their scythes and flails but seeming nonetheless uncertain. Knowing they would be, agents circulated among the men, saying, "Remember your children! Do you want them to grow up to a life like yours?" And, "Why should the ladies dwell in marble palaces, wearing silk and surrounded by tapestries, when your wives wear homespun and walk on dirt floors?" or, "Bring down the lords, or your wives will forever sneer at you for cowards, and your beds will be cold all your lives!"
The men heeded and, little by little, began to remember their anger. The crowd began to chum into a restless and wrathful mob. Someone began shouting for blood; others took up the cry. Soon thousands of voices echoed the calclass="underline" "Down with the King! Down with the Queen!"
The gates of the city opened, and the mob surged toward them, howling—but a score of armored knights rode out, each followed by a hundred armed and armored soldiers. The crowd began to slow, and their shouts gained an uncertain tone.
Then someone bellowed, "Yonder!" and everyone looked up to see another score of knights riding down into the valley from the west with two thousand soldiers behind them. Another panicked cry turned the crowd to the east to see yet another army advancing. The crowd's tone took on a note of fear. One voice shrilled above the others: "They're a long way away! We can still run for… ADEEE!"
With a gasp of horror, peasants pushed backward, leaving an open space around the fallen man, blood flowing from the dent in his skull. Before they could recover from violence within their own ranks, a voice cried, "Thus be it ever to traitors!" and others took up the call, "Face the knights and chop down their horses!" Still another called, "We'll be forever shamed if we go home empty-handed!"
"The King!" a dozen voices cried, and the whole mob turned to see three men riding out from the gate, flanked by palace guards. A golden crown glittered around the helmet of the middle one.
"I AM LOATH to strike down my own people, Father," Alain said.
"I am even more loath to let them strike down you," Geoffrey said from Tuan's other side.
"Is it kill or be killed, my son?" Tuan asked. "Do you see no other way?"
"Let me talk to them, at least," Alain urged.
Tuan thought a moment, then nodded slowly. "They are your people now and will be your subjects soon. Test their loyalty."
Alain nodded and kicked his horse into a trot. Geoffrey stared, then sped after him—but Alain heard the hoofbeats and turned back with a radiant smile. "I thank you, my friend," he said, "but this I must do alone."
Geoffrey reined in, exasperated. "Do you speak as my liege lord?"
"As your future liege," Alain qualified.
"Then I shall do as you bid," Geoffrey had to force out the words, then cried, "If they harm a single hair on your head, I'll see every one of them hang!"
Alain beamed at him in answer, then turned to ride alone toward the crowd.
They murmured in awe as he rode up to them—and in among them. They parted, scarcely able to believe they were so close to their Prince—or that he dared come into their midst when they held weapons. Then a voice shrieked, "Haul him down!"
Three men turned on the rabble-rouser and clouted him cold.
"I am your Prince!" Alain called out. "Why have you come? Tell me your grievances, that I may address them!"
"Don't trust him!" a voice shrilled. "He's a lord! They only want to use …"
A meaty thud cut him short.
"We will hear you!" a dozen voices shouted.
"Nay, it is I who shall hear you!" Alain called in reply. "Speak! Do your lords' soldiers beat you? Do your lords starve you or force you to work so long on their lands that you cannot tend your own? Tell me!"
The crowd milled about for a few moments, muttering to one another; then a man called out, "Why must we live in mud huts while your kind live in castles?"
"There will always be rich and poor, alas," Alain answered. "Were I to forsake my castle and give you all I own, it would be gone in a fortnight, and some other man would fight his way to owning that castle and making you work for him."
"Not if we killed all the lords!" another man shouted.
"Some of your own would gather more and more bullies about them," Alain answered, "and seek to make you all their slaves. Their grandchildren might begin to think they have some obligation to you, but how many of you would have died in misery by then?"
"How many of us shall die in misery now?" demanded another.
"Well asked," Alain replied, turning toward the voice. 'Tell me who lives in misery, and I shall give him food and clothing of my own. If you know any old folk who dwell in poverty and are like to die in misery, give me their names and places, and I will send helpers to them."
The crowd muttered in surprise. Then someone shouted, "We should not have to come to the King for that! There should be assurance!"
"Your lords should provide," Alain returned, "but if they do not, you can seek redress from me."
The crowd erupted in amazed conversation.
"I pledge it!" Alain cried. "I shall swear it if you wish!" Then, in a lower voice, "At least with me and mine, you already know us, and know what to expect."
CORDELIA STOOD WITH Gregory and Allouette on the battlements, fingers clutching the stone, ready and braced for an enemy telepath to lash out at the royal family—and on edge, waiting to twist weapons out of hands by telekinesis if anyone tried to strike at Alain. "How can he have had the stupidity to ride among them, one man in the midst of so many enemies!" Cordelia cried.
"It is wisdom, and a calculated risk," Gregory told her. "More to the point, though, with your husband, it is compassion for the poor and a sense of what is right."
"Must he be so devoted?" Cordelia instantly answered her own question. "Yes, he must. I would not love him so if he were not."
Allouette touched her hand. "Sister, he is even more devoted to you."
Cordelia stood in silence a moment, then gave her a smug smile. "Yes. He is, is he not?"
"Who comes?" With a frown, Gregory pointed toward a small party who came riding out from the eastern slope.
The women turned to look. Cordelia frowned. "A lord and his retainers, from the look of them, with an escort of royal men-at-arms from the eastern wing. Sir Nabon must think them important indeed to send them to Their Majesties in the mist of a battle! But why is that one man bound?"
"I think, in these circumstances, a touch of mind-reading would not be unethical." Gregory frowned a moment, then stared. '"Tis your Uncle Anselm and your never-seen cousin!"
ANSELM RODE ON one side of Sir Orgon, Geordie on the other—but the young man's gaze was fixed on the crowd. "What passes here? A parley?"
"A parley between your arrogant cousin and a mob of thousands!" Anselm said. "Does he think to fight them all single-handed?" But he put on a respectful, though scowling, face as they rode up to the King and Queen. "Majesties."
"Well met, brother." Tuan couldn't help staring. "What brings you to me on the brink of battle?"
'To your wife, not to you!" Anselm snapped. "We bring you a traitor who urged me to rebellion again. These last few days his exhortations have grown quite urgent, and I could not think why—but now I see." He turned on Sir Orgon. "You knew about this, didn't you? A peasant uprising, and you knew when it would happen, which is why you said there was little time left!"