The Winter Prince

"No." I touched his shoulder lightly to set him walking again.



We traveled seven or eight miles without stopping to rest. In the early afternoon the road led us down into a valley, to what had been the Roman city of Aquae Arnemetiae, a city of healing pools and mineral wells. The Roman baths lay crumbling into ruin now; the springs were beginning to break free of the shrines that had been built around them, though they ran clear and warm as they always had. The outer buildings of the old city lay as rubble, roofless and empty. But the heart of the town remained inhabited. On one of the streets that we passed through there was a public house with its door open, and from within, fragments of quiet conversation echoed in the street. I unslung the small black leather satchel that I carried and put a hand in, searching for the few coins I had brought with me. I said to Lleu, "Shall we eat here?"



He watched in horror and amazement as I drew my hand out of the bag. I saw the fear in his look, but could not understand it. Disturbed and puzzled, I said, "What is it? You can’t be afraid to take a meal among other people."



Lleu whispered, "Why do you carry feathers in your bag?"



"Feathers?" I asked, speaking low, and feeling curiously fearful myself. "Feathers…," I repeated slowly. "Where did you see them?"



We stood beneath the eaves of the low building, talking in quiet voices, as would any two traveling companions who might pass through the town and debate whether or not to take their midday meal in company of the townsmen.



"You shook them out of your satchel just now," Lleu said. "Didn’t you? A handful of black feathers, like snowflakes of shadow, they fluttered from your fingers and scattered across the street—"



"Ai, God help you, Lleu," I whispered. I stood a moment considering whether he had any idea of what was happening. Then I bent and reached down as though picking up some small thing near my boot, and held my hand before his face. "A feather like this one?"



"There’s nothing there," Lleu said.



"Are you sure?" I slowly turned my hand.



His face betrayed him. "What did you see?" I asked.



"I don’t know," Lleu gasped quietly. "You’re not—holding anything."



"No," I said. "I’m not. But you saw something."



We both stood still and silent. Lleu looked at the white doves in the eaves of the building across the street, then closed his eyes with a small cry and quickly turned his face away.



"Come, let’s eat here," I said. "You must rest, Lleu. You will destroy yourself if you go on like this."



Lleu said carefully, "Suppose the folk in this place have heard that I have been abducted?"



"That is a risk hatligI take."



"And if I cry to them for sanctuary?"



"Will you?" I asked.



"No," he said. "This is our contest now, yours and mine alone, I will not force my father’s people to choose between us."



We stepped inside the small, dark shop. There were a dozen or so men there, shepherds and farmers from the nearby moors, and a few townsmen. I asked for bowls of porridge and mugs of warm ale for myself and Lleu, and the other patrons made room for us on one of the benches. Lleu looked up from his food to scan the faces around him, as though one might prove to be compassionate or even familiar; but he suddenly sank his face against his forearm, leaning on the table, his shoulders shaking. "Sit up, you little idiot," I said in his ear, helping him to straighten. "What’s the matter?"



"I thought one of the men was horned with stag’s antlers, like the lord of death and the Wild Hunt," Lleu whispered despairingly. "Oh, God, I am so tired." When he finally gathered the courage to pick up his mug his hands shook so much that he spilled a good deal on the table. The men sitting near threw him curious glances, but decently looked away when they saw me gently take the cup from Lleu’s hands and wipe the table.



When I went to pay for our meal the keeper of the hostel remarked quietly to me, "It’s a bad time to travel far in open country. Is the boy simple?"



Lleu heard, and flung up his head in defiance, but he said nothing. I answered, "He’s not simple. A bit of a fool, perhaps." I beckoned Lleu with a nod of my head. "He could shape entertainment in a king’s court, couldn’t you, little one?" I said. "Give them the performance we had at Midwinter’s."



"You dare tempt me!" Lleu said aloud. He rose to stand before me and handed his bow and quiver to one of the patrons. Then in spite of his exhaustion, in spite of the tricks his eyes were playing him, in the small space between a table and a screen of woven rush he executed two fast, furious handsprings, forward and backward. Afterward he clung to the nearest table for support, blinking to clear his unreliable vision, as the astonished patrons burst into a roar of approval and admiration.



"Hey, Maria," the proprietor called into the inner room, pushing aside the wattled reeds. "Bring the children out here. There’s an acrobat."



A thin woman came out of the back room, dogged by two small boys; the elder looked about six years old, and the other, whose face and hands were covered with flour, was perhaps two years younger. The little one hid behind his mother’s skirts, peering out through his dusty fingers. "Come on, you lot," the owner directed. "Stand back, clear some room."



They dragged the tables and benches aside and waited expectantly, all gazing at Lleu. He glanced around the dark room, biting his lip; then suddenly he laughed and ran a hand through his hair, and spoke in his clear, authoritative voice:



"Under your green-girt beams I come



Neither to beg nor borrow;



Instead I play upon your hearth



To speed away all sorrow.



I am the sun lord’s namesake—



Cry welcome to me here! Fortune I bring to field and fold



At the closing of the year."



He looked at me and grinned and shrugged, while his small audience applauded and called encouragement. He turned a few more elegant handsprings, and the children watched with round eyes. Lleu suddenly knelt by the older boy and said, "Would you like to try?"



The child nodded. Lleu stood and led his pupil to the center of the floor, then holding the small hands flipped the boy head over heels two or three times, back and forth. The child laughed in delight, until at last Lleu set him down. "Such talent!" he praised. He ruffled the boy’s hair and added, "I could teach you to use a sword, as well. But perhaps that is enough for today."



"One more stunt, then?" someone called. Lleu obligingly stood on one hand for a good half a minute before he flipped himself to his feet. Finally he breathed deeply and bowed, and moved to stand at my side.



The men cheered and applauded and thumped their fists against the tables, and the hostel’s keeper poured another drink for Lleu in payment for his performance.



"My thanks, master," Lleu said as he reached for the cup, grinning still in exhausted pleasure; but instead of drinking he suddenly cried out, "Ah, no!" and threw the mug aside. He buried his face in my sleeve and mumbled incoherently, "The handle moved. I thought it was a snake." I put my arm around his shoulders and stroked the back of his head.



The townsfolk turned their faces away, hushed, and the woman said to the children, "Now away with you." They ran back into the other room.



The proprietor said to me in a low voice, "If I can help him in any way—do you need shelter for the night? You need not pay for it."



Lleu raised his head and answered for both of us, refusing the man’s offer with quiet finality. "Thank you, but no. I am very tired, and we have a long way to go."



I loaded the blankets and satchels on my back, then drew Lleu’s cloak over his shoulders and fastened it for him. The man who held Lleu’s bow offered it up to me; Lleu stood before the little crowd and held out an open hand, his gaze demanding. I surrendered the bow to him.



The other patrons moved aside so that we had a clear path to the door. As Lleu passed by the thin, tired-looking woman, she took his hand and held it to her lips in formal respect. She said quietly, "God go with you, fair one."



It cut at my heart mercilessly. What need had he to be any kind of warrior or administrator? He was instantly beloved of his people; all he must do is turn a somersault and pet a child, and he has won them to him body and soul.



"Why did you not accept that offer?" I asked him as we left the city, following the road uphill and northward.



"Because you are with me," Lleu answered bitterly. He spoke as he walked, plowing through the snow with his head down, watching his feet. "Because they looked to you as my protector, my guide. You could see they thought me out of my senses; if I had fought to resist you they would have fought against me, and all with the best of intentions."



"Perhaps." I halted, and he turned to look at me. I said, "Here we leave the road."



Lleu prsti" aligotested passionately, dreading to return to the forest and uninhabited moorland after the laughter and warmth of the town. "No! Why? Cross the moor yourself! I dare not depend on you to show me the way!"



"You no longer have the strength to take the road alone," I said patiently. "This way is more direct, and will bring us to Camlan sooner."



"Why would you want to get there sooner?"



"Like yourself, I am not in such matchless physical form," I answered.



"True," he sneered. "You’ve been nursing a raging fever since our first night in the open." A breathless little laugh escaped him. "To think it is you who have taken chill, not I!"



"But I’m not hallucinating," I said softly. "No matter which of us is in control when we reach Camlan, we both need to get there quickly."



Lleu stormed reluctantly in my trail as we walked away from the road. We climbed through the bare forest, and covered several more miles. At dusk we were close to another stretch of empty hilltop, and we stopped among the trees to make camp: this time only a small fire, and the furs and blankets spread next to it. Lleu unpacked the little dried fruit and cheese that was left, and heated wine. At first he would not let me help, but in the midst of his preparations he gasped in wonder, "My hands are bleeding." He held out a hand, palm up, gloveless. "Look: blood running between my fingers, staining my sleeve."



I could scarcely bear to listen to him. "Put your gloves on," I said. His sleeve was unspotted.



After that he let me deal with the food. He avoided touching anything lest it change shape before his eyes.



When we had eaten he took off his cloak and folded it double, and wrapped it around his shoulders that way beneath the blankets and furs in which he huddled. He was nearer the fire than I, yet he was still shivering. I could not imagine being so cold; I could not feel the cold even in my hands. I sang under my breath from the dark story of Lleu’s shining namesake:



"Grows an oak on upland plain,



Darkly shadowed sky and glen;



Nine score hardships had he suffered