Unexpected Magic (48 page)

Everard came up to him. “I am cold too,” he said. “We must heap this straw together over us and try to keep warm. That is, if—”

“If what?”

“If you do not mind. If you will believe that I will not try to break your neck again.”

This made Alex give a chuckle that was half a shiver. “Next time I shall insist on a fistfight and then I might have a chance.” And Everard laughed too. It cheered Alex no end to find that the Prince could laugh. Then he discovered, as they scraped up a mound of straw and hollowed it out in the center, that Everard even made jokes.

“A jail-bird's nest,” he said and flapped his arms and jumped into the hollow with a squawk. Alex giggled as he settled in beside him.

For the first ten minutes they thought they were getting warm. Then Alex's teeth began to chatter again. There was so little feeling in his feet that he wondered if he had not got frostbite.

Everard said: “We shall not be warm until we think of something else beside how cold we are. We must talk. Tell me of the history of your country.”

Alex did his best. Between chattering teeth, he began at random on the Wars of the Roses. Everard was enthralled. He exclaimed, he offered advice to the long-dead kings, and he took sides in a way which would have shocked Alex's schoolmaster, but which quite delighted Alex. “By the time we are both dying of hunger,” he thought, “I shall like him tremendously.” He realized he was a great deal warmer.

Then Everard told histories of the Principality. He told them in the same formal manner that Miss Gatly used, and Alex was enthralled in his turn. “Now,” said Everard, “I will tell you the story of Prince Geoffrey the Good and of Eleanor. Eleanor was an Outsider and her name was Eleanor de Courcy—”

“I say,” Alex interrupted, “did she live near here? I know some people called Courcy. Could they be some relation?”

“Maybe,” said Everard. “Some part of Eleanor's lands bordered this realm, but some lay far away. Prince Geoffrey went a hundred miles to interrupt her wedding.”

“Yes, they owned lands all over England once. They must be her descendants.”

“They cannot be. She was my ancestor. She married Prince Geoffrey in spite of all her father said.”

“Tell me,” said Alex, and as Prince Everard began on the strange story, he thought: “I suppose this is my lesson—that I should not have been disobedient. I should have gone to that party. But then, if I had, poor Everard would have been here all alone.”

C
ecilia came out of her tent into the middle of a council of war. Robert was standing just outside in the crisp frozen snow talking hurriedly to his friends. Half of them were holding their horses ready to mount. Cecilia could see swinging stirrups, arching necks and trampling hoofs all around in the dim morning light. As she came, Robert, and all the others, turned and greeted her cheerfully, and then went straight back to their hasty talk. All around, beyond them, the outlaws in the camp were running and riding, chattering, and shouting, making ready for battle. To Cecilia's surprise, everyone was merry—as if they were delighted to be dragged up on a frosty dawn to fight for their lives.

Lord Strass was laughing. “Then I'll attack their right wing. That will be Darron, as far as we know. Good. Should James come with me?”

“Yes,” said Robert. “His father is with Towerwood in the center.”

“No,” said James of March. “Send me against Moyne on the right.”

“We want Bress there, James. Go with Rupert,” Robert answered. “No, please do not argue. Now, one thing worries me. Since Darron is there, Towerwood must be attacking in the Prince's name, and it is possible that he has Everard with him somehow. You must all make sure that the Prince is not hurt, if he is there.”

The others all gaily agreed, but Lord Strass said: “How are you sure that this is in the Prince's name? Darron is becoming more Towerwood's creature every day. Tremath is not there—and he would be, if this were for the Prince.”

“Then we can look for Tremath in reserve, later,” said Robert, “for I am sure. I know Darron and I begin to know Towerwood.”

Then a bugle sounded. To Cecilia, trembling at the thought of a fight, it was like the screech of a slate-pencil and set her teeth on edge. The others were all delighted. Lord Strass threw his cap in the air, James of March shouted “Hurrah!” and mounted his horse, and most of them rode or ran laughing away. Robert was laughing too as he turned to Cecilia, but he stopped when he looked at her.

“You are frightened!” he said, and sounded surprised.

“Yes,” said Cecilia. “Suppose you all get killed.”

“We have little else to look for,” he told her, still not seriously enough for Cecilia. She was almost angry with him for being so lighthearted. What he said next made her really indignant. “But I have arranged for you to be in safety on the hill. You will have a good view when the sun comes up.”

Then he hurried away before she could be angry, and Tom, the false guard of the night before, was left twirling his mustache and smiling at her. “Come, my lady,” he said. “We had best get to our post.”

“We had best not,” said Cecilia. “I have no desire to see the fighting.”

“Ye need not look,” Tom said, “but ye must come. We cannot have ye killed, my lady—being a lady and an Outsider as ye are.”

“I am not really a lady,” said Cecilia. “And why does it worry you that I am an Outsider? It does not worry me.”

The bugle sounded again. Another bugle answered it, a different call, from farther away. Tom did not let Cecilia argue anymore. He picked her up, tossed her over one shoulder, and set off up a steep path beside the caves. Cecilia furiously beat his back with her fists and drummed on his mailed chest with her toes. “Let me
down
, you beast!”

Later, Cecilia did manage to laugh at herself, but at the time she was too angry. She drummed and protested all the way. It grew suddenly lighter. She realized that the sun had risen and that probably all the outlaws and even Conrad of Towerwood could see her being carted up the hill like a sack of coals. She was furious. Tom, panting like one of the great express engines which ran daily past the farm, tried to explain as he went what Everard had explained to Alex about Outsiders.

“Be quiet. I will not listen,” Cecilia kept saying, but before the top of the hill she had taken in enough of what he said to be frightened. “Put me down!” she said instead. Behind her, far below now, a voice was shouting across the snow. She thought it was Conrad of Towerwood calling on the outlaws to yield. She heard Robert's voice answering, gaily at first, then angrily. Then, as the bugle on both sides sounded again, they reached the top of the hill and Tom heaved her gently down.

“There,” he said. “Did ye take in what I said of Outsiders?”

“Yes,” said Cecilia meekly. “No one must kill me.”

“Well done, my lady,” said Tom. “And now don't ye give me more of that about not being no lady. A man's only to look at ye to see ye are. I reckon ye'd hold your own beside Princess Rosalind herself.”

Cecilia would have protested at any other time, but now she looked down and saw the battle beginning and could think of nothing else. Towerwood had a great army, a huge black block of men and horses, spread out in the snow against the rising sun. Cecilia saw the red gleam of armor and the long banners streaming above them. The outlaws were a quarter the number and nothing like so well armed. Nor did they have a banner among them. They were clustered at the mouth of the valley, with two groups of cavalry up on the low hills to right and left. Cecilia was horrified at how few of them there were.

“They will all be massacred!” she exclaimed to Tom.

“Could be,” he answered soberly. Cecilia could hardly bear it, when he said it. She thought of how happy they had all seemed five minutes ago, and she burst into tears.

Through her tears, she saw the vague galloping mass of Towerwood's cavalry charging at the outlaws. She saw them met by black whirring arrows which threw some into confusion. Most of them galloped on, though, and found the outlaws' leveled spears. Then a second wave set out from the enemy's army, and another. As they came, first one wing of the outlaw-riders, then the other, raced down from the hills to help. The mouth of the valley became an ugly heaving mass of men and horses. Among them was the flash, flash of lifted swords. Shouts, screams, and war cries came horribly up.

Outlaw horses galloped back up the hills on either side. Lord Strass's horses rallied around into an orderly group, but the side where James of March had gone was all confusion, with enemy cavalry mixed up among the outlaws and always that flash, flash of swords. Cecilia saw a horse rear and its rider fall. She was sure it was James. Rupert Lord Strass rode out in front of his men, with his sword raised, and then charged down again into the fighting. His riders followed and were swallowed up.

Beyond the valley, nearly half Towerwood's army was still waiting, but as Lord Strass disappeared, Cecilia saw them begin to move. The whole black mass, riders and foot soldiers, came slowly down on the struggling outlaws.

“Oh!” cried Cecilia, and looked hopelessly around for help. She looked behind her, and could have fainted with horror. The hill sloped smoothly down, behind the steep face where the caves were, and below Cecilia, at the bottom of the slope, was another army. It was at least as large as the outlaws' entire force. Over its twinkling horse and glinting foot flew a long yellow banner with a bear in its midst. Cecilia tugged Tom around and despairingly pointed. “
Look
!”

Tom shrugged his shoulders. “Tremath,” he said. “Come to make an end on it right enough. Then this
is
in the Prince's name.”

“But I don't think the Prince is here, do you?”

“No,” said Tom. “He bain't. I been looking. He's not here, for sure.”

“Well—” Cecilia began, but Tom interrupted.

“My lady, ye stay here. Ye keep hid behind this rock here, see. I must warn 'em. Maybe they spare some men to hold off Tremath. Anyway, I best warn 'em.”

“Very well,” said Cecilia. “Hurry.”

Tom set off down the steep path again, and as he left Cecilia, the second half of Towerwood's army reached the fighting. They came with a roar and a shriek of trumpets, and in a matter of seconds the outlaws were broken into bands. The valley below was filled with desperate seething battle. Cecilia, rather than watch, turned to look at Tremath.

The new army was coming up the hill toward her. The rider in front under the streaming yellow banner was barely twenty yards away. Cecilia stood on the edge of the cliff with the battle heaving behind her, biting her muff and full in view. She had been so busy watching that she had utterly forgotten to hide. Now it was too late. She could see soldiers pointing at her. She felt them all looking at her, and the force of all those staring eyes was so overpowering that it seemed to be driving her backward over the edge of the cliff. She bent her head against those faces, as she might against a wind, and stumbled toward them for fear of going back.

Commands rang out along the new army. Cecilia looked up to find it had stopped, all except the rider in front, his squire, and the man who carried the banner. They came on. She heard their horses in the crisp snow, but she could not look up again until the rider spoke.

“Are you one of the Outsiders who claims the coronet? Answer me, girl. I am Humphrey Lord Tremath.”

It was a haughty, angry voice, but when Cecilia looked up, she was pleasantly surprised at the man. He looked agreeably intelligent, and his eyes were gray and honest. It was not the kind of face which would willingly join with Conrad of Towerwood, Cecilia was sure.

“I
am
an Outsider,” she answered, “but I have no claim whatsoever to the coronet. Neither has my brother. There has been a mistake about that, I assure you—er—my lord.”

“How so? I have been told—”

Cecilia, encouraged by his face, if not his voice, had a sudden idea that she might be of some help to Robert. She ran up to the horse and took hold of Lord Tremath's armed foot. He looked down at her in amazement. “I think you have been told a great many untruths, Lord Tremath. Tell me, did the Count of Gairne say the Prince was fighting Lord Howeforce here?”