Beyond the Burning Lands by John Christopher Read Free Book Online Page B

inevitable, that he should be trained as a warrior. Ann did not quite oppose this—how could she?—but made it plain that she would have her say in all things she thought important: which comprehended much.
    I wondered what he would be like, this unborn nephew of mine. Divided between his father’s demands of strictness, the iron rule a Prince must impose upon his son, and his mother’s loving gentleness, would he grow into a weak vacillating man, feeble and indulgent and vicious like James of Romsey? But perhaps—and I thought it more likely—it would be their strengths, united in their love for each other, which would mold him, not their weaknesses: so making him a warrior strong yet noble-hearted, a worthy Prince to succeed a Prince.
    Ann looked at the clock on the wall, dangling heavy weights, its massive wooden carapace carved with a representation of a boar hunt in which the boar at bay had tiny gleaming tusks of ivory. She said:
    â€œI must leave you. My bath will be prepared.”
    Peter said, teasing her: “I have never known such a one for baths. Every day and sometimes twice a day.”
    â€œIt is a weakness,” she said. “I could do without fine clothes, rich food, the trappings of the court, if you were to discard me, but I should miss my baths. I confess my sin of indulgence to the priest, but I cannot break myself of it.”
    â€œGo quickly, then,” Peter said. “Take this bath, that may be your last if I decide in the morning to put you away, and take a new wife who does not make such demands on the palace stoves.”
    They smiled and kissed and she left us. He and I talked, as easily but on different matters. There was the question of how the troop would get through the pass across the Burning Lands. The peddler had this cloth which protected against the heat; but there was not enough for one other man and a horse, let alone a score. I had talked about it with Edmund and Martin, and Martin had suggested something. The dwarfs could make boots for the horses, as the peddler had done, and in place of the magic cloth contrive a means of trickling water down over them from a skin fixed on the saddle bow. This would serve to keep them cool.
    â€œYour friend Martin has a good head,” Peter said. “He is wasted as an Acolyte. But I suppose he would not anyway have been a warrior.”
    â€œHe will fight when there is need. He fought for me in the Contest.”
    â€œAnd was soon down.”
    â€œNot until the second round. He brought his man down in the first.”
    Peter grinned. “You are loyal to your followers and I am glad of it. Let us talk of the campaign next summer. I would like you to tell me what you think of a scheme I have in mind. . . .”
    I do not know how long we talked. It was Peter who broke off. He said:
    â€œShe soaks more each day. She will turn into a water nymph or give me a son with webbed feet.” He made a quick gesture of contrition to the Spirits, repudiating his levity and warding off the evil thought. “We will send a maid to hurry her.”
    He reached for the bell rope and pulled it.
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    It was Janet who attended his call, she who wore her dress very high at the neck to cover the marks the Spirits had left on her polymuf body. My mother had been bullied by her servants and my Aunt Mary had bullied hers. Ann asked little and in a quiet voice, but they did her bidding almost before she could speak the request.
    Janet nodded and went. When she returned a few minutes later and stood in the doorway, Peter was talking of maneuvers. Without looking up, he said:
    â€œWell, did you tell her we were waiting? It is almost time for supper.”
    He had not, as I had, seen Janet’s face, stricken and bloodless. She said:
    â€œSire . . .”
    It was her voice, broken and failing, which made him turn to her and then, running forward, catch her by the