The King's Name (7 page)

wondered where Thansethan stood.

Emlin looked awkward. "One or two looked to see what their friends were doing, but nobody moved."

"I'm not asking for names," I said, as gently as I could. Emlin himself had been Galba's tribuno before he was mine. Aurien might well have got some of them if I had been dead of drink. "That's all right. So, you left without being attacked?"

"Who could attack us?" Emlin looked puzzled. "I can see that Aurien could send her guards to fight four people in the forest, but I had three pennons with me, half an ala!"

"Did you see anything of Marchel?" I asked.

"Marchel?" His eyebrows rose in astonishment. "No. Isn't she in Narlahena?"

As I was explaining the new situation to him as best I could, a servant came up and announced that the dinner I had ordered was ready. I remembered the cook asking me about it that afternoon and agreeing to all his suggestions.

Veniva came out of the accounts room, announcing that she would need to find a new steward.

Emlin and I

followed her to the eating alcove, where Duncan and Emer soon joined us. Emer looked terrible, her eyes red-rimmed from weeping and with shadows under them so dark they were almost blue. The old scar on her cheek showed angrily red as if she had been scrubbing her face hard. Duncan was looking tired, and I

suddenly wondered how old he was. He still went out to the practice yard regularly, though he had not been war-leader since my father died.

We talked about the troubles as we ate. Emer ate nothing but bread, sometimes dipping it in her broth for politeness. I was hungry, but with so many questions I talked more than I ate.

When I mentioned Marchel's supposed invasion, Duncan clicked his tongue.

"Where are her children?" he asked. "Are they at Nant Gefalion with ap Wyn the Smith? We should send swift riders up there to seize them as hostages for her good conduct, and ap Wyn as well."

"What good conduct?" I asked, swallowing. "She is exiled on pain of death, she can't be here in honor."

"No," Emer agreed, "but Duncan is right. Having hostages might well prevent her moving against us directly."

"If she doesn't move against us, she will still move against Urdo, which is as bad; nothing will work but defeating her. She needs to be killed. Her alae could leave, but how could we persuade her to pretend she'd never been here and just take her alae right away back to Narlahena or off to Caer Custenn or—or Rigatona!" I

said.

Veniva raised her chin. "Well. But a threat to her children might be enough to do that. Without her what could the levies of Magor and Tathal do against the alae?"

"I don't like it," I said. "Either the boys are our enemies, in which case they won't be at Nant Gefalion but away at Tal-garth or Caer Gloran preparing to fight us, or, if they are there, then they are innocent or very

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stupid."

"We needn't harm them," Veniva said. "Only tell Marchel that we have them in our keeping."

"And Urdo has taken hostages into the ala many times without harming them," Emlin said.

"People usually have a choice whether or not to give hostages," I protested. "They are given as a pledge of faith, not kidnaped."

"These days, perhaps," Duncan said, looking sternly at his plate.

"She is an exile, and has no faith." Veniva shrugged. "And we're not talking about little children; the boys are grown men now. They are our enemies by their connections, and we should take them if we can. We have killed Daldaf; all his kin will be against us."

"If they mean us harm they won't be waiting there tamely to be taken," I said. "No. That is wrong and I won't have anything to do with it."

"Maybe we could invite them," Veniva said. "It would be safer for them here than up in the hills, if there is trouble. They would not be hostages, but honored guests. And if there is any restraining Marchel then it serves the same purpose."

I chewed and swallowed the last of my preserved apples, thinking about this. When I looked up all dieir eyes were on me. "I will send a pennon up to see if they are there, and to warn Nant Gefalion of the danger coming. If Cinvar invades from Caer Gloran they will come that way. I will have them offer ap Wyn and his sons our hospitality, but there will be no coercion in it."

Duncan sighed, but none of them argued with.me.

When we finished eating I went out to the center of the hall and looked at my household, gathered in the alcoves. Being Lord of Derwen and obliged to do it often hadn't made me any better at making speeches.

"You will have heard the news whispered," I said. "Better to hear it said plainly and by me. There have been attacks, and there may be invasions and uprisings." I didn't want to use the word war, though it burned on my tongue. "My sister Aurien ap Gwien is no longer our friend. Do not trust any messages coming from Magor. I

will be riding to Magor in arms soon, but I will be calling the levies and enough force will be left here to protect you. I know you are all loyal, and I know you will do what you can. I will speak to the ala in the morning when the rest of the pennons come here from Dun Morr. A hard time may be coming, but we will uphold the King's

Peace and win through."

I went back to Veniva and the others among a rising buzz of speculation. I would have gone straight off to read the letters in Daldaf's chest, but Emer put her hand on my arm. "I will sing, if I have your permission,"

she said.

"Of course," I said automatically, my thoughts catching up with my tongue too late. Sing? Now?

It was true that we had just eaten, but it didn't seem the right time for singing. It was already too late to call her back. I

sank back on the cushion next to my mother.

Emer went out into the center of the hall and sat on the stool by the great harp, which had been sitting there covered since Morien had died, except for occasional visits by musicians. She took up the little lap harp that sat beside it, removed the leather cover, and tuned it. The conversation rose for a moment when she went out. The people knew her, of course. The queen of Dun Morr was often here, but she was not one of us. Then it slowed and ceased as she tuned the strings, and the hall was silent when she spoke, though she did not raise her eyes from the harp.

"I was thinking," she said, quietly, "of the first time I ate in this hall, new come to Derwen, twelve years ago now. That was a night we had not dreamed, after the day that had been, when my people were come in arms, a night of friendship made and war averted. So many of those friends are dead now, or scattered. Morien ap

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Gwien lies under the earth and Conal the Victor lies unburned tonight." She plucked a string and let the echoes die away before she went on, perhaps to hide the tremor in her voice. "Garian ap Gaius is dead beside him, fallen together in one defense, though on that day they faced each other as enemies. So strangely time and alliances move, and here I sit in this hall tonight to hear that war is coming again."

Then she plucked at the harpstrings and played the tune of an old Isarnagan lament, a parent singing of a child who is dead. We all knew the song, had heard it many times. When she had played it through she played it again and sang the words, and when she had sung it she played it over again in silence. For the first time I knew in my heart that I had a son who could die in war—Darien was a signifier, he would be first in any charge Urdo's ala made. Then, immediately, I knew that it made no difference. Every armiger was someone's child, and my responsibility, and in this war with raised levies from Derwen every one of my people who fought and fell was like a child to me. I could not hold them back and keep them safe because someone's heart breaks when everyone dies, no more than a child can be kept from running free. There are wars that have to be fought whatever the cost, however much the true cost should be remembered. Every battle since Caer Lind I had written letters to the survivors of my fallen. While that task never grew easier, those who chose to fight were not children; they were grown warriors who had chosen to hazard themselves to protect those safe at home. More people would have died had I left those battles un-fought, and many of them would have been children and unarmed farmers. Their deaths were heartbreak, yes, but they were a price they had paid willingly for the Peace.

Emer had a right to mourn, but I suddenly felt angry with her for diminishing Conal's death like this. He had died laughing and, as he had said himself, in no unworthy cause.

Veniva leaned over. She had a tear on her cheek, I don't think there was a dry eye in the room by then. Emer was still playing the tune on the harp, and weeping. I thought Veniva was going to say something about

Morien, or even Darien, but what she whispered was, "Who does Emer ap Allel have to mourn like that? Her daughter is eleven years old and safe in Dun Morr with Lew."

I was jerked out of my mood by the question. "Her mother, Maga—" I began feebly.

"That is not a song you sing for your mother dead more than ten years ago," Veniva hissed in my ear. "That is a song you sing for a child or a lover lost—" She paused. "Surely not Conal? He killed her mother!"

I moved a little away and looked straight at her. "It would be a great impiety," I said, gravely and very low.

"It would indeed." Veniva's look spoke volumes. "Well, if anyone remarks on it to me I shall tell them about the war the poor woman lived through in Connat before she was sixteen years old, and how personally she takes these things."

When Emer came back we congratulated her on her singing, and then I took a good lamp and went off to search Daldaf's possessions.

I had never had cause to go into his room before and I looked around curiously. It was just off the hall, as any steward's room would be. The walls were limewashed white, like everywhere else. There was one small window with tendrils of ivy poking in, a bed, and a chest at the foot, much like my room or anyone's room. I

found it hard to picture him plotting treachery in this pleasant place. I set the lamp on the win-dowsill to add to the late light coming through. There was a soot mark there to show that it was where Daldaf usually put a lamp or a candle. I sat down on the bed and opened the chest.

The packet of letters was right at the bottom, under his clothes and jewelry. It was a thick pouch and I drew it out reluctantly. There were copies of my last three letters to Urdo and his to me on the top. This made me immediately furious. If Daldaf had been in front of me at that moment I
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would have been hard put to it not to run him through. How dared he read my private letters! I put them aside. The next letter was addressed to me but I had never seen it.

"From Ayl the son of Trumwin, king of Aylsfa, at Fenshal, by the hand of his clerk, Arcan of Thansethan, to

Sulien the daughter of Gwien, Lord of Derwen, at Derwen, Blessings!"

So Ayl had a Jarnish clerk at last, though a monk. He had never been able to learn his letters, from starting too late and not applying himself enough. The few letters I had had from him before had been written by

Penarwen. I opened the letter and read it through. Then I read it again, puzzled. I could not see why Daldaf had kept this from me. It was rambling and full of pieties I could not believe Ayl had uttered, but there was nothing in it but vague expressions of friendship and loyalty. On the second read I caught the tone, and put it down, shocked. This letter was like the ones I had spent the afternoon writing, but further clouded by Ayl's need to use a clerk he did not entirely trust. He was trying to feel me out about rebellion without openly saying anything of the kind. I was shocked. I had not thought Ayl could be drawn into this quarrel. I could not see what would make him line up beside Flavien and Cinvar. He seemed to want me to reassure him about something. Whatever it was, I had not; the letter had sat for half a month unanswered.

I took up the next letter and blinked at the salutation.

"From Rigga of Rigatona at Caer Custenn to her cousin Sulien ap Gwien at Derwen, upon the island of Tir

Tanagiri, Greetings! " I had not heard from Rigg since she had left with ap Theophilus for Caer Custenn four years before. She was not the sort of person to write letters, even had sending letters across that vast distance not been difficult almost to impossibility.

"Sulien my cousin, I write to you rather than to Urdo because I was an idiot and allowed Lukas to forbid me to write to Urdo. As it is a thing without honor and against the borders of hospitality I should have written to Urdo

in any case except that the stratagem of writing to you occurred to me, that I need not break the promise my husband extorted by force nor yet the sacred bonds of kinship and hospitality I share with you and with Urdo alike. It did not occur to him to forbid me to write to you."

I almost laughed at the words and the thought of ap Theophilus imposing anything on Rigg by force. She overtopped him by a foot and could have broken him in half with one hand.

"The Jarnsmen of Jarnholme and their king Arling Gunnarsson have sent to Caer Custenn for help againstthe high kingdom of Tir Tanagiri. The Emperor Sabbat-ian, badly advised by my husband Lukas ap Theophilus, has made alliance with them, and has sent them some devices of war."

Her Vincan had improved markedly, I noticed, but whatever the devices were she either didn't know the word for them or wasn't telling me.

"This is his business and none of mine, even should Arling attack you. You are strong in arms, besides having horses which he does not. But I learned privily what it was that the Vincan Empire gained in exchange and this is a concern. It seems that Urdo's nephew Morthu ap Talorgen is allied with this Arling and he is sending Sabbatian plans and models of many things used in your country such as waterwheels and flails for threshing wheat. Lukas says it is known that Urdo would keep all such knowledge for himself and refuse to share it. Further he says that we give arts of war and gain arts of peace, which is a loss on our side. Truly men can be fools sometimes. However all this may be, this Morthu is a traitor and you and Urdo should withdraw all trust in him. He is the man the queen believed had harmed her; it seems she had good reason to hate him."