The Winter Prince

by Elizabeth E. Wein

“Are you lost too?” Lleu murmured. “I thought you were leading this venture.”

  “Where are we, Medraut?” Agravain repeated.

  “Old Moor. This way is shorter.”

  Agravain said, “It’s more difficult.”

  Lleu looked up at me, silent. He frowned a little, as though he were trying to map his way through a fog, trying to fathom what I was thinking.

  “It is more difficult,” I acknowledged. “But also more beautiful.”

  “You make no sense,” Lleu said.

  I was too hot, arms and legs aching with fever. I longed to feel the cold I could see all around. Whenever we stohenense, pped to rest I faced the wind and stood gazing across the still, colorless plains, my back straight and my cloak and scarf loose. When we walked to let the horses rest, or when the ground grew rough and we dismounted to fight our way on foot through the concealed pockmarks in the land, Agravain and Lleu sheltered against the animals’ warm bodies; but I always moved to windward, facing the cold unafraid, desiring it. Once I plunged a hand into a snowdrift and rubbed the melting crystals over my forehead and through my hair. Agravain watched me curiously and then looked away, embarrassed by such eccentricity. But Lleu suddenly reached up to dry my forehead with the end of my scarf, and said quietly, “Don’t do that.”

  As the day wore on we left the moor and entered one of the narrow, forested dales, following a trickle of icy water that had somehow cut a cleft into the land. Snow clung to the stark and leafless twigs like blossom out of season. In the gray, dimming light I could not tell whether it was snowing yet again, or if the seldom flakes were only drifting from the branches overhead. Among the bare trees were tracts of pine that were once farmed for timber; here we stopped for the night, under the shelter of an evergreen whose heavy, snow-laden needles dragged the spreading limbs almost to the ground. There was little snow beneath the tree, and the ground was too frozen to be damp. When night fell we built a fire. The tree made a protective tent around us, and we were able to heat wine and toast bread, while the smoke drifted and curled into the dark branches above. When we had finished with eating Lleu huddled close to the fire, scowling at the frigid night with his cloak wrapped tightly about his shoulders and his scarf swathed over his head beneath his hood. “It’s too cold to sleep,” he said.

  Agravain responded in scorn and wonder, “You’re still cold?” We were well equipped, both with furs and with blankets of thick, good wool.

  “Aren’t you?” Lleu snapped back at him. “I didn’t say I was cold. I said it’s too cold to sleep.”

  “Then don’t sleep,” Agravain replied without sympathy.

  Lleu started suddenly, as though a chill had passed over him; the shadow of a ghost or an idea. He rose and began to peel off the layers of wool in which he had shrouded himself, until he stood straight and shivering with his hands on his hips and his cloak thrown back over his shoulders. “If I’m lucky, maybe the two of you will freeze to death overnight.”

  “Never count on luck.”

  Agravain glanced at me and. held silent as I spoke, his eyes glinting in the firelight as he waited for me to deal in some crushing way with Lleu’s insurrection.

  “I won’t,” Lleu answered quietly. Then with the speed and sudden agility of all his training as dancer and swordsman, he vaulted toward the carefully stacked weapons and seized his own small bow and a fistful of arrows. We both leaped toward him, and he brandished the arrows at us as though he held a dagger or a flaming torch. By chance he scratched the back of Agravain’s outstretched hand, and as Agravain paused to curse and wince, I stumbled in his path.

  Lleu dropped the arrows. In the moment of our hesitation he strung his bow; when I regained my balance he stood with the bow drawn and trained in our direction. The other bows and spears lay at his feet, as did the arrows. He burst out in fury, “Don’t either of you move. By God, Medraut, you taught me to kill, and I will do it, if I must, to save myself.” His face was pallid, but his hands did not tremble. His bow was beHisod,nt to its extent, the bowstring taut as he could stretch it. He stood close enough to either of us that there was scarcely any need for him to take aim; all he must do is loose his arrow. Agravain reached for his hunting knife, and Lleu sent the arrow plowing into the hard earth near his cousin’s foot. He snatched for another and notched it to his bow with a speed and accuracy I never anticipated. “I cannot shoot like Medraut,” he said, voice and hand steady, steady. “If I try to come closer than that I might hit you. Don’t force me to try.” He was in desperate, deadly earnest.

  “I want your daggers. Keep them sheathed.” Agravain unfastened his hunting knife and tossed it with angry reluctance at his cousin’s feet. I did not move, sure that I could regain control of the situation in some way. Lleu turned the drawn bow toward me. “Hunter turns quarry,” he said softly. “I do not like this game, Medraut, my brother.”

  “You play it very well,” I answered, still without moving.

  “I will train this arrow at your throat for the rest of the night if you don’t obey me,” Lleu said through his teeth. “How you scorn me! You count too much on your superior strength. You wield it over my head like an executioner’s sword. That you are stronger than me does not make you better, or more ruthless, or wiser.”

  “Show me your superior wit,” I said with disdain.

  “I am,” he protested, laughing. “Why did you not bind me, or guard your weapons? Did you imagine I would deliver myself with docile acceptance into the cruel and terrifying hands of the queen of the Orcades? Give me your dagger. And mine, you have them both.”

  “I will not,” I said patiently. “Will you really stand there all night?”

  He suddenly turned on Agravain and launched another arrow at his cousin, and drew his bow again. Agravain stared at Lleu with wide, angry eyes. “I care less for this fawning minion than I do for you, Medraut. Don’t make me hurt him. Give me the daggers.”

  “Do it,” Agravain hissed.

  So I had threatened Goewin the night before, knowing that she would do my bidding rather than let me harm her brother. I threw the knives contemptuously at Lleu’s feet, more in the spirit of one accepting a challenge than because I cared for Agravain’s safety. Lleu said, “Now, Agravain, come here. I want you to burn the other bows. Don’t touch the spears.”

  Efficiently and effectively, Lleu disposed of all the weapons we had brought with us except for his own bow, the hunting knives, and a little hand ax which he used to destroy the spears. He kept only as many arrows as he could comfortably carry in a quiver. When he had seen to this purge of arms, he relaxed his guard and once more sat across from us by the fire; his face was still without color, but despite his evident fear he was confident, excited.

  “We are vulnerable,” Agravain said sullenly, “to any beast or man that might choose to attack us.”

  Lleu laughed again. “Oh, the bears are all asleep. We are safe enough by firelight, don’t you think, Medraut? I am no faultless marksman, but I have a steady hand. As to men, who were you expecting to meet in this wild wood, in dead of winter?”

  “What do you mean to do now?” I asked quietly.

  Lleu pulled up his hood and wrapped his cloak about him, the heat of his rebelt ofy"lion wearing thin. He propped his chin on his fists, with his elbows resting on his knees, and stared at the fire. “I don’t know where we are. You know that.” He spoke slowly, thinking. “I want you to guide me back across the moor we crossed today, back to Shivering Mountain, where I can find my own way. From there we will return to Camlan, and my father can charge you or forgive you as he sees fit.”

  “You will need a better plan than that,” I said. “I am not turning back.”

  “You are. You will.”

  “Why? Will you kill me if I refuse your command?”

  Lleu narrowed his eyes, staring at the fire as he realized his dilemma. He said slowly, “I can’t. Without you I am lost.”

  I turned to Agravain sardonically. “You must admire hi
s honesty.”

  “Don’t mock me, Medraut!” Lleu cried. “You are at my mercy!”

  I looked at him directly, shaking my head. “Not entirely. You are at mine, as well.”

  This was so clear, so indisputable, that he did not argue. He sat in glaring silence for a few moments and presently asked, “What then? What will you do instead?”

  “Two or three days south of here lies the road that runs to Ratae Coritanorum. If you follow it north it will lead you toward Shining Ridge, near Camlan. We will continue southward; and when we reach the road, if you are still free, you can turn home yourself. If not, we will take the road south.”

  “If I am still free!” Lleu repeated. “Why shouldn’t I be?”

  “How will you keep us from seizing you in your sleep; how will you remain in control of two who are stronger than you, by yourself, for as many days as it takes to reach your destination?”

  Lleu turned from one to the other of us, his expression caught between a puzzled frown and a mask of mounting dismay at the thought of the ordeal that lay before him. “I will not sleep. I will guard you.”

  “Your own strength may fail you by the time we reach the road,” I warned him.

  “I see no other course,” he admitted.

  He kept awake all night. Agravain slept soundly; but I woke every few hours, watching for a slip in Lleu’s guard, a flaw in his defense. That first night, there was none. He talked to the horses and sang to himself, and toward dawn he walked the perimeter of our campsite in thoughtful silence. There will be time, I told myself. Be patient with him. He will break himself before we reach the road.

  It was gray again in the morning. While Agravain and I struck camp, Lleu stormed idly back and forth beneath the trees, driven with nervous energy. Once he tripped over a root hidden beneath the snow, and I dropped a pile of furs thinking to catch him off-guard. But he was on his feet before I could reach him: bruised and annoyed at his clumsiness, who was so light, so agile by nature. His eyes were bright and weary at the same time, alert and bloodshot. He kicked at the remains of the fire till the ashes flew about his feet like soft gray moths.

  There was no sign that any other man or woman had ever set foot in this place. We still followed the same little river as it wound farther and farther south, but throughout the day we did not see a single cottage distant among the bare trees, or any kind of track through the forest. Lleu would not eat food that I prepared, wary lestredougho I try to poison him again. Determination made him bold; he shot two rabbits before evening fell, and skinned and dressed them himself. We had plenty to eat that night. But I was fast in the grip of fever and ate only toasted bread and dried fruit. I had no appetite for meat.

  We camped in a little clearing and brushed aside the snow until we had an area large enough to spread our blankets and build a fire. After we had eaten we sat about the fire as we had the night before. Lleu set aside his bow and ceased to watch me as he cleaned his hunting knife; and so without warning I snatched for the dagger.

  He slashed the knife beyond my reach, holding it away from his body like a torch. He held steady, not moving, eyeing me distrustfully. He knew that resistance kept him alert; he did not consider how it drained him.

  I dove at him again. We both got to our feet and struggled together for a moment; I tried to seize my own dagger from his belt, but he had bound it in its sheath. I broke away from him in disgust and stepped aside into the snow and shadow beyond the clearing we had made. Lleu would have let the matter end; but now Agravain scrambled to his feet and caught Lleu’s arms from behind. Lleu rested a prisoner for a few moments, panting a little, as I stood poised and motionless outside the circle of firelight. Agravain could do little more than hold him, for Lleu was armed with the shining steel that we had both sought to win from him. I thought to wear Lleu down, to tire him out. I waited for him.

  Lleu suddenly snapped out of Agravain’s hold and spun away, and I sprang to meet him. He sheathed his knife and watched me cautiously, not sure what I meant to do. As he hesitated I threw my weight against his chest and shoulders, trying to knock him off-balance. He kept his feet, but I caught and held him with such ferocity that even he could not break free. I drove my young brother to his knees, then bore him to the ground in a twisted heap beneath me, face down in the snow, sobbing and gasping in fury and defeat. I held him there and said to Agravain, “Bind his hands.”

  I toyed with Lleu’s hair with one hand. When he tried to raise his head I held him down without mercy, so that he must lie with one cheek burning against the snow, the cold crystals melting a little when he breathed. “I don’t want to hurt you,” I told him softly. “But so help me, Bright One, I am going to prove to you my power.” Lleu lay quivering with rage and humiliation, while Agravain dragged his cousin’s arms behind his back and lashed his wrists together so fiercely that Lleu gave a little gasp of pain.

  “Loosen that,” I told Agravain.

  My compassion undid me. When Agravain unfastened the knots he had made, Lleu somersaulted beyond our reach, shedding arrows from the quiver he still wore, and snatched up his bow. On one knee in the snow he fastened one of his remaining arrows to the bow. “I am not a pawn!” he cried. “I am not a precious stone to be fought over, stolen and bartered and tossed from hand to hand!” He drew a long, trembling breath, and said in a calmer voice, “Ah, go to sleep, Agravain. Think how much less alert I’ll be tomorrow. Put the arrows down!”

  Agravain stalked back to the fire, where he cocooned himself in furs and seemed to settle to sleep. I watched as Lleu got to his feet and collected the scattered arrows. He dusted the snow from his hair and clothes, then folded a blanket around his laden shoulders and resumed his place by the fire. He sighed. “Medraut, is it lack of power that makes you bound to do this? Surely Morgause cannot offer you more than Artos.”

  “It is &#x &#power over you that I crave more than anything, and Artos will never grant me that,” I answered in quiet, sitting by him. “You cannot know how I envy you your youth, your beauty, your father’s love for you.”

  He said then, with disarming irrelevance, “Tell me about Africa.”

  “Africa!” I laughed. “There is nothing to tell that you haven’t heard already.”

  “I like to hear you speak of it.”

  He said that, armed against me and sitting in my shadow, with the prospect of another sleepless night ahead of him. I closed my eyes and thought of roosters crowing in the early morning, and the smell of charcoal cooking fires. The dirt, the dust, the unreflecting drab of undyed muslin, the women selling water from clay pots they carried on their backs. The crowds in the noisy marketplace, vendors hawking goats and peppers; and the feeling always that I was a foreigner manifest, never able to hide my white hair and white face. A cold stranger from a cold country.

  “When I would walk in the streets of Aksum,” I said, “I would attract a host of beggars. It was because I was dressed well, but also because I was so different. Even in Deva people look askance at my pale hair. In Aksum my very skin was unnatural.”

  Lleu watched me, fixedly biting his lip.

  I asked, “Do you remember the lepers described in the Christian testaments?”

  He nodded.

  “The beggars in Aksum were all sick, or mad. They were eyeless and limbless and filthy.”

  He cried out, “But you were happy there!”

  “Aye.” I leaned forward to place another branch on the fire, stirring sparks skyward. “Well, Kidane’s house was large and cool, with white walls and a courtyard open to the sky. Turunesh kept doves and parrots.”

  “What did she look like?” Lleu asked.

  “You question like an old woman!”

  He frowned and tossed his head, and said, “Don’t tell me, then.”

  “She was ‘very dark, but comely,’” I told him softly, thinking too of the evenings over the old books, hymns chanted, stories told. “‘Like the tents of Kedar, like the curtains of Solomon.’”

&nbs
p; We both sat silent, gazing at the fire, while the sweet words of the Song of Songs echoed on the cold and quiet air. Lleu whispered then, “How would she admire you if she learned of this week’s hunting?”

  I whispered in return, “She would not admire it.”

  “Did you love her? Have you ever loved anything?”

  Yes. Yes. All the wrong things. The hunt, and darkness, and winter, and you, Godmother.

  “Oh, be careful, little brother,” I breathed. “You are hurling your slight weight against a very thin scale of ice.”

  “I am chancing for my freedom in any way I can,” he answered.

  He sat awake and watched all through that night.

  The morning came gray and changeless. We traveled on foot through still more bare, deserted forest; Lleu walked in a private haze of exhaustion. Snow covered the trees and forest floor as far as could be seen, and drifted across our vision. There was only soft light, the ft u walkedlight one dreams by, gray clouds, or snow, or blue shadows, but never the true light of the sun. In the afternoon we left the dale and struck out over another stretch of empty moorland. Lleu rode behind me as he had the first day, but now I gave him no support or help. He kept himself upright in the saddle through sheer strength of will, riding doggedly, dazed with weariness.

  Before dark we came upon a small, round hill, wider and lower than the mounds we had passed earlier. Here we dismounted. Lleu did not resist when I laid my hands on his shoulders to rub gently at the tense muscles across the back of his neck. “Will we stop here?” Agravain asked. At the bottom of the slope the rise of land cut off some of the wind, though it was still cold and could not compare to the protection the forest had offered us.

  “Climb,” I said. “There’s better shelter back of this ridge.”

  Agravain led the horses, and I guided Lleu the little way to the top. The mound was not a hill but an earthen rampart around a bowl-shaped trough. The outer ridge formed a wall about the hollow of the hill, and sheltered there an ancient ring of stones. Those that were fallen now squatted balefully, but a few still stood upright or pointed at drunken angles to the sky. Lleu stood shivering beneath my hands at the top of the ridge, staring at this old and forgotten shrine. He murmured, with something like despair in his voice, “We are to shelter here?”