“Elena. I am your ally by birth. My fight is your fight.”
I offer you my services and sword? Arthur waited for it. This was the effect he had on men, from rusty old knights to striplings like this. Ector had told him the power was a good thing, when managed with humility and grace, but sometimes he had neither, and the responsibility scared him.
He wouldn’t have minded it from this boy, though. He’d seen how he could fight. When half-dead from hunger, at that: what a force he’d be, after a few good meals and some lessons in swordsmanship from Guy! His new friend had nothing here in this godsforsaken village, not even family to defend. Arthur waited expectantly. For once he could accept with a good heart.
Nothing happened. Lance remained silent and still. The sudden fires died, replaced by something sterner, older. “Do you like it?” he asked. “Making yourself pleasant, I mean—all the diplomacy?”
“No. Bores me to tears. But I’ll have nothing left to rule if I don’t, so I have to find and meet the rulers in the north, and hope that they’ll support me in my cause.”
“You make me understand that my father was a king in name only.”
“Oh. I didn’t mean to—”
“You’ve travelled the whole island. You’ve met with these fierce chieftains, men of resources. You could raise an army if you wished.”
“Not quite yet. But... yes, that’s the general idea.”
“While I tend Ban’s farmyard and fields.”
Then leave them. Ride into battle with me.Once more the words died on Arthur’s lips. This skinny prince had a dignity unconnected to the insignificance of his father’s realm. “Not tonight, you don’t,” Arthur said, almost shyly. “You’ve got to rest, Ector says. I know you don’t approve, but he’s having a meat-cow the size of three wagons brought up for tonight. If you sleep, you might be well enough to come down and do the honours of your house later on.”
“Wait,” Lance said, as Arthur stood up to leave. “I know I haven’t earned answers—not under the terms of our agreement—but there’s so much I want to ask you.”
“Try me. I have to be kind to defaulting allies, Ector says, if their reasons are good enough.”
“And if they aren’t...”
“Why, make a hideous example of them, of course.”
Lance hitched a half-smile. “Of course. What is it like in the Forest Wild, then? Why are you sometimes called Bear? And...” He paused, attention noticeably caught by a gleam at Arthur’s chest, between the laces of his jerkin. “Sir Ector and Gaius knelt to my village’s priest. They’re Christians, then?”
“Yes.” Arthur gave a tiny shrug. “Isn’t everyone these days? Aren’t you?”
“Er... yes, of course. You wear the solar disc, though. Forgive me if I wasn’t meant to see.”
“Oh, damn.” Clumsily Arthur fished the pendant out. It was heavy and old, and on its reverse bore the signs of moon and dragon too, worse still in these days of the gentle, humble new god. “It was on a longer chain, but that got broken. This strip of hide’s too short to keep it properly...”
“Concealed?”
Arthur met his gaze, amused and resentful. “I do believe that answering questions from you might be harder than I’d bargained for. You can just wait for the rest.”
Lance settled back. He tucked his hands behind his head. “I’ll see you at dinner, then. I tell you what—go down to my blacksmith, Garva. Say I sent you, and he’ll make you a longer chain.”
Chapter Nine
Early next morning, Lance was up and about, Father Tomas hobbling at his side. He filtered out the old man’s chatter and fuss as they made the rounds of the settlement. He wanted to see for himself all the blessed signs of life he had heard upon waking at dawn: the clatter from the forge, the mewing of gulls coming in from the coast for new-broken plough, their voices skeining with the village children’s cries. To his surprise, the prince of Cerniw joined them, emerging from an alley as if he’d lived here all his life and falling into pace at Lance’s side. Although he looked fresh as the morning itself in dove-grey tunic and cloak, Lance sensed a change in him—that, this morning, he wished to be ordinary—and kept his remaining questions from the night before to himself.
He guessed that the stop in this wild place might serve as a welcome hiatus from Arthur’s duties as well as his travels. There was no-one here to appease, no need to establish a diplomatic rapport with any of the shepherds or farmworkers he met. He went with Lance and Tomas through the vicus, admiring the smithy, talking to the bakers about their ovens and their grain, while Lance counted heads among the children to make sure that the last bitter nights—unreal as a dream to him now that he too was freshly clothed and fed—hadn’t borne anyone away, and sought out the men and women who’d searched the moors for him to say shy thanks.
No-one questioned him overmuch. The child he’d been before his absence would not have escaped interrogation, but the young man who’d returned with royalty in tow was allowed his reserve, his new dignity. By the time he reached the outskirts of the town, he found to his amusement that rumour had raced ahead of him. He’d gone off into the night, it seemed, not to hunt but to answer a summons from Arthur himself, to bring him home for who knew what future splendours and promotions. After an exchanged glance with the prince of Cerniw to check that that he too was enjoying the joke, he let the story lie.
Later, when Tomas had grown tired and shambled off to his chapel, Lance rode out with Arthur to the fields. Sir Ector had loaned him Balana again, and he was entranced. He tried desperately not to get used to her powerful stride underneath him, but she was such an old hand that she had rocked him into a state of submission before they were clear of the village. All he had to do was sit down into her canter and keep the lightest touch on her reins, and allow the sunny morning to blossom out around him.
White Meadows had transformed overnight from barren silence to a rich mosaic of life. As well as Ector’s generous gift of ewes and tups, every sheep the farmsteads possessed seemed to have given birth overnight, and the lambs were everywhere, scattering like snowflakes. Wind and hawthorn blossom whipped and flew in the crystalline air.
Arthur caught the joyous infection of the day and sent his black stallion bounding past Balana. “Where are you going?” Lance called after him, laughing.
“Not the least idea. Up to the top of that hill there, where the old road runs through.”
