The King's Name by Jo Walton
I looked at her in horror, remembering how I had felt when the poison had hold of me, how I had been able to see and hear but not respond. She could live for years unable to move. Conal had said so and he knew about poison. She could not stand trial like this. I thought about the boys. I glanced at Raul. I knew followers of the White God thought suicide a terrible sin, denying all chance of the world they believed was to come. I almost wondered that she had been so Vincan in the end. I felt sure Raul would not let me put a cushion on her face to end it for her kindly. I wondered how much he knew about poisons. He wouldn’t have had much chance to learn at Thansethan.
“We must give her water,” I said, surprised to hear my voice come out evenly. “We may be able to wash it out of her system.” Raul looked at me quickly, then agreed quietly. As I left the room he was praying over her.
I ran downstairs, snatched up a beaker, and ran out of the back of the hall to fetch water from the well. I wound the handle as fast as I could, slopping it everywhere. I poured it from the bucket to the beaker, not worrying how much I spilled. I had taken two steps across the yard back toward the hall when I smelled the henbane in it. I stopped dead. She had poisoned the well. Or, to be fair to her, someone had. I could not believe Aurien would have done it without telling the boys to be careful, and they would have told Urdo. I wondered briefly where henbane came from and how expensive it was. I didn’t know if it would take a lot or only a little to poison a whole well. Conal would have known. Maybe I could ask Emer.
I turned back to the well and started to laugh. I had come to get water to poison my sister, and found poison in the well. Yet I could not take her a cup of poison, whatever my intentions and however much she had done the same for me. I emptied all the water I had drawn back into the well and set the beaker down on the rim. Then I calmed myself and sang Garah’s charm for water, naming the Mother as Coventina; as I had done in Caer Lind when the wells were poisoned, as I had done on the top of Foreth Hill. There came a gurgle from the depths of the well. I could feel the charm working on the world, driving out the poison and setting the rising water as it should be. There would be a charm that drives poison out of people that way, if any god loved people as the Mother of Many Waters loves water. Then I drew up the bucket again, slowly this time, aware of the holiness of water and of all things. I filled the beaker carefully. I sniffed at it. It was good, clear water. I poured a little from it, carefully, then drank it, praising the Mother. I poured it full again, and turned toward the hall.
Again I stopped. How could I use this water, sacred as all water is sacred, to kill my sister? Yet killing her now was a kindness to everyone. I took another step toward the door. I raised the beaker toward the sky. I would take it in. It would be the gods’ choice what came of it. Death can also be a holy thing.
I hurried up through the hall and back to the tapestry-hung room. Raul broke off his prayer and turned as I came in. “I think—” he began. Then Aurien choked a little and he turned back to her. It seemed to me that she was looking at me, and the expression in her eyes was hatred.
“I’m sorry I was so long, but the well was poisoned,” I said.
I kept my eyes on Aurien’s face, but detected no changes. I could not tell if she had known it or not. “Where did you get the water, then?” Raul asked.
“I cleansed the well,” I said. “I have used the charm before. This is pure water. I drank some myself before I brought it up. There might have been clean water in a jug but I couldn’t leave it like that; anyone might have come along and drawn water.”
He looked at me, surprised, then shook his head a little and put out his hand for the beaker. I gave it to him and he set the beaker to Aurien’s lips. She opened them a little. She was staring at me and I could still not make out the expression on her mouth. Raul stroked her throat and she swallowed. She kept on swallowing. “Marchel must have poisoned the well,” Raul said. “Aurien must have taken some of the water and drunk it without noticing.” In that case, why had we hurried in here, I wondered. Also, the liquid in the broken beaker had been wine and not water. But Raul went on, “I am glad. If it was suicide she could never find her way to God. This way she has her chance of forgiveness.” He made the sign of the White God and touched his pebble to her forehead and lips.
I didn’t say anything. The beaker was empty. Raul put it down. Aurien looked at me an instant in what appeared to be deep concern, and then she just stopped being there. Her head lolled back on her neck, her heart stopped pumping, and her breath stopped. I killed a dozen people on the field of battle that day, or more. In a way I killed all of them, by giving the orders I did, and most of them deserved it far less than Aurien. I have never felt any guilt for helping her find the death she wanted.
“Ah,” Raul said. “I wondered if that would happen. It sometimes does, with henbane.” We looked at each other for a moment. Then Raul began the prayers for the dead.
— 8 —
O Lord, give of thy Ever-Living Spirit to these people, that being now born again and made heirs of everlasting salvation through God Made Man they may continue to be thy servants and attain thy promises and dwell with thee in eternal glory, ever more praising thy glorious Name.
— From the Baptism of the White God, early translation as used at Thansethan
When we came out, the courtyard was full of armigers and grooms watering their horses and walking them. It was only the two pennons we had come in with; the others had gone down to the river. All the same the courtyard seemed like Caer Tanaga at a fair. Gwien had given Evenstar half a bucket and was walking her. I was relieved to see he had been able to stop her. Too much cold water can kill a hot horse. She was a very well-mannered mare but he was only thirteen.
I let Raul explain to Urdo his theory about the well poisoning. When he heard his mother was dead, little Gwien flung himself weeping against Evenstar’s leg. She gave one startled huff and swung her head around to nose at him, then stood patiently. Galbian just kept very still. He was young to have the whole weight of Magor fall onto his shoulders. Urdo took the boys off into the hall. I looked enquiringly to see if he needed me, but he shook his head.
Once the horses were cool and watered I brought both alae inside the walls. I warned Dalmer that the other wells might also be poisoned and he went off to check the supply situation. I checked on the wounded and the dead. When I came back inside, I started settling disputes about how to assign billets. There was barely room for all of us inside the walls and definitely not going to be enough room for all the horses in the stables.
I spent a few minutes with Darien in the stables where he was settling his summerhorse, whose name, appropriately enough, was Barley. I left him and came out to a dispute between Golidan and Rigol about who had first claim on the barracks. Golidan was stalking off to set up tents and I was drawing breath when Dalmer came up to me, looking furious.
“Where’s Urdo?” he asked without preliminary as soon as the decurios had gone off. “The food has all been deliberately destroyed. Trampled by horses, thrown in the midden, or generally fouled. Some of the roots may be salvageable for the horses; it’s hard to hurt a turnip, but that will take time. And if there’s anything that will ever be fit for people to eat, that we didn’t bring in ourselves, then it’s well hidden.”
“But they could have won!” I said, trying to take it in. “I’d assumed that someone poisoned the well at the last moment, but that must have taken time. What did they think they were doing?”
“I’ve no idea. I don’t know if thinking came into it. But the waste of it! I could cry to see it. If I ever get my hands on Marchel, killing will be too good for her. Murdering prisoners and invading the country and destroying good food!”
“That’s why they said they didn’t have enough for the Isarnagans,” I said, my mind catching up slowly.
“And we shall have to send something out to them as well,” Dalmer said. “Celemon? Hey, Celemon!” Celemon ap Caius, who had been ap Erbin’s quarterm
Celemon shrugged. “Porridge?” Dalmer swatted at her with the wax tablet he was carrying. She dodged and pretended to cower, though she could have picked Dalmer up in one hand if she’d wanted to.
“There are some cows on a farm a mile or so south of here,” I said. “If you give them half a dozen cows they’ll be so delighted they won’t mind if they take half the night to cook and they’ll get less food out of it than if they had porridge.”
“I can see you have experience of Isarnagans,” Celemon said to me. “I’m only used to feeding armigers and horses. I’m doing Glyn’s job since he got to be king of Bregheda.”
“I expect ap Erbin misses you,” I said. “A good quartermaster is hard to find.”
Celemon shrugged again. “We’ve been training people as well as we can. I am hoping to get back down to Caer Segant eventually; my husband likes it there. But for now, will you give me a scout so I can find this farm and deal with the Isarnagans?”
I signaled to the nearest of my armigers to find me one of our scouts. “Shall you bring some cows back for us as well?” I asked.
“How many cows do they have?” Dalmer asked.
I shrugged. “I didn’t count, I was too busy getting the troops away. More than a dozen. Fine, big beasts.”
“That must be some farmer’s whole livelihood,” Dalmer said. “They might sell one or two for silver, but never the whole herd. It’s terrible that we need to do this.”
“Why do we?” Celemon asked. “We have what supplies we brought. I know harvest is due, but shouldn’t there be enough?”
“Marchel destroyed it,” Dalmer said, anger in every line of his body. “We’ll have to feed the local people as well, most likely.”
I looked away as he began to detail the destruction and saw Emer and ap Ranien standing just by the gate. Emer looked as if she had every right to be there, but ap Ranien looked uneasy. As he caught my eye he said something to Emer.
“There are the Isarnagan leaders now,” I said, interrupting Dalmer. “By the terms by which the gates were opened they should not come inside. Will you come and greet them with me?”
“I should speak to Urdo if I can,” Dalmer said. “But you go, Celemon, you might be able to get an accurate count of their numbers from them.”
I led Celemon over to the gate, where I made the introductions and everyone bowed low and very politely.
“We were just arranging to have some cows brought in for your victory feast,” Celemon said.
Emer and ap Ranien exchanged glances. “There may be no need,” ap Ranien said.
“We understand your people will want to celebrate—” I said. But I had misunderstood.
“Are we to stay in the stockade again tonight?” Emer asked.
“Yes,” I said. “The people of the town are afraid of your troops.”
“In that case we can easily set up roasting pits,” Emer continued. “We have been clearing the field, and there are a great number of dead horses. Unless you have any need of them, they will suffice to feed our people.”
My stomach heaved, and I bit my tongue to stop myself saying something offensive and undiplomatic. I needn’t have bothered.
“That’s the next thing to cannibalism!” Celemon blurted. “Our greathorses are our battle-companions! They are honored dead and their bodies are treated with honor.”
A memory came to me of Glyn’s sober face over a well I had purified, long ago. “Come, Celemon,” I said. “Remember Caer Lind? We would have eaten our own horses there rather than starve, and they were still alive.” I was as horrified as she was, but I had spent time with the Isarnagans and their barbarism could not horrify me as it would have once. I had even had to judge one case of horse-stealing where the motive had clearly been much the same as the thief would have had for stealing a cow.
“Besides, we weren’t suggesting we eat your dead companions, just the horses of the enemy,” ap Ranien put in quickly.
I opened my mouth, while trying to find a polite way to suggest that eating the fallen enemy was only marginally better. Celemon was looking quite green and leaning against the wall. While I was looking for words I heard Urdo’s voice from behind me. “You and your people may feast on the Malmish horses, though you should know that it will cause many in the alae to have the same reaction as ap Caius here.”
I spun round. I had no idea how long he had been there. He came forward and took up a place beside me. He was looking and sounding very weary. Celemon cleared her throat uneasily.
Emer smiled. “We are accustomed to being considered barbarians,” she said.
“I would have that change,” Urdo said. “You are all my people now. This is a good time to make the change. Tonight, feast as is your custom. Make sure it is only the Malmish horses you eat. Then, tomorrow, I will gift you and your people with some of the Malmish horses that are left alive. There should be two horses for each of your household warriors. This victory feast will mark the change from your people seeing horses as cattle to seeing them as companions.”
Emer frowned and drew breath, but did not speak. “What about the spoils of the field?” ap Ranien asked.
“Your people may have what they have found on the bodies of our enemies,” Urdo said. “We know the difference between an army that fights even partly for plunder, and one that fights for the Peace and the glory of their names.” He paused, and looked from Emer to ap Ranien. “The cabbages and roots will be ripening in Dun Morr as they are here. Your troops will need to be home to gather them. How many can you spare me for a longer campaign?”
“I can lead five hundred who would rather fight than farm,” Emer said, without even glancing at ap Ranien. “You are right that many of them will soon be needed at home.”
I looked at poor ap Ranien, who was biting his lip. He shrugged a little when he caught my eye. I guessed he would not be glad to be away from Emer. He was a steady man for an Isarnagan, but I would not have liked to ride in his saddle. Lew listened too hard to advice, and Emer did not listen hard enough.
“Very good,” Urdo said. “Set up camp in the stockade for tonight, and arrange who will be going home. Tomorrow five hundred of your troops will begin marching up the highroad toward Caer Gloran.”
While they were smiling and bowing and exchanging politenesses, Urdo added, almost as an afterthought, “Send some of your horse-collecting parties down here—we have some more dead horses in the stables and you may as well take them, too.” They took this without a murmur, but I turned to Urdo, startled. He ignored me and kept smiling evenly at Emer.
After the Isarnagans left us, Urdo sent Celemon off to get on with her work. “Oh well,” she said, wanly, as she left. “Think of the food we’ll save. Not only the supplies we don’t need to feed the Isarnagans, but the porridge we’ll save on the armigers. Nobody will be able to eat a bite when they know.”
“Better not to spread the news too widely,” Urdo warned. Celemon rolled her eyes and made the hand signal that meant that she would follow orders.
“What dead horses in the stables?” I asked, quietly, as soon as we were alone.
Urdo ran his hands through his hair. “Marchel’s armigers have all gone, sure enough. Her grooms were left in here and decided to cause what havoc they could. They poisoned the wells, spoiled the food, and went to the new stables over beyond the hall and started to kill the spare horses.”
“How many?” I asked queasily. I had to know, whether I wanted to or not.
“About fifty dead. Two stables’ full. Ap Selevan caught them as they were going into the third stable. They are presently barricaded inside there, demanding their lives in return for not slaughtering any more horses.”
I gasped as this hit me like successive blows to the stomach. “T
“Indeed,” Urdo said between his teeth. “Ap Selevan sent a message to me. They are refusing to surrender unless you and I are both there.”
“They could have surrendered at any time,” I said. “Are they mad to do that, killing horses and destroying supplies to put themselves outside the law?”
“A horse is a weapon, and a horse in our hand is a weapon against them,” Urdo said. “But I wonder what these Malms know of surrender. They may be zealots, fanatics, the worst kind of enemy.”
“Very few of them surrendered in the fighting,” I said. “And Marchel was exiled for slaughtering those Isarnagans at Varae—” I hesitated, and Urdo raised his chin grimly. “But I do not think it is a custom of their people.”
“Thurrig has honor,” Urdo said.
“And Larig did. But what I was thinking was Marcia Antonilla writing about them two hundred years ago when they first attempted to cross the River Vonar. They had honor then, as a people.”
“That’s good to know,” Urdo said soberly. “Now, they are waiting for us to get there, so we will go. Have you a fresh horse?”
I looked around as if expecting a fresh horse to be standing at my side and saw Urdo’s groom, ap Caw, with Thunder and one of the summerhorses, both saddled and ready. “Not nearer than the stockade,” I said.
“Then take Thunder,” Urdo said. “He will remember you.”
“Why do they need me there?” I asked, belatedly realizing that this was strange. “You, yes, but why me?”
“There could be all sorts of reasons. In the worst case they want to kill us both in a charge. But we will have two pennons there, so they cannot do it.” He signaled to ap Caw, who brought the horses up.
I was tired already. All my bones ached. I wished I could summon up a fresh body as easily as a fresh horse. I swung up onto Thunder’s back, talking to him reassuringly, all sorts of nonsense if I should write it down afterward, just making noises to let him know that he knew me and while I wasn’t Urdo I was still someone he should take notice of.