Through this I sat speechless with my hands clenched, quivering in delight and tension. My father’s praise meant more to me than I can say. And the regency, the captaincy, the responsibility to be mine—it seemed to me then that it could not possibly matter who received the title.
"I had thought to start by giving you a shared foremanship in the copper mines at Elder Field," Artos said. "There is a foreman in one of the more difficult tunnels who is also a landholder, and he cannot devote as much time to the seam as it needs. You can relieve him and still have half your days for your own pursuits and for learning the core of whatever else I must teach you. It is only a beginning, but your life and position will be secure. I will see to that. I know that you are capable of leading men, and of holding together what I have built. Will you accept the position in the mines?"
"With all my heart!" I answered without hesitation. "Sir—oh, my father, there is nothing I would rather do."
He laughed a little at my fervor and said, "I also ask a favor: that you try to impart to Lleu something of your own wisdom. He is unfinished. He is not full grown and is not very strong, he is eaim.ng, he sily frightened and often thoughtless. He needs to be crafted and straightened, like an arrow, and set in the right direction. My marksman, see if you can make him worthy of his name."
"I will accept that challenge too," I answered.
After that, we went together to the Great Hall to celebrate with the rest of the household. It was a time of new expectancy and hope, promise of an end to hunger and sickness, an end to stillborn children and bony livestock, and to all the fight to make the previous year’s poor harvest last till the next. We were glad of that spring.
The weeks that followed were full with new work and knowledge. Artos made me one of his Comrades, gracefully bringing me into his select band of warriors and counselors an entire year before his heir would become one of them. The mining too was a joy and a consolation to me. The mines at Elder Field are not large, though some of the natural tunnels go very deep; anyone looking for work can help in the less dangerous shafts and surface quarries. I had, when I was younger. Now I shared supervision of one of the deeper shafts with a man called Cado, each of us usually working only half the day. Cado was a solid man with a square face, devoted to his farm as well as to the mining; his initial uncertain deference to me soon fell away to reveal kindness and keen but gentle wit. The tunnel we worked together was dangerous and unpredictable, but that made the work worthwhile. The six men under our command were quick and clever as well as strong. We knew what we were doing, or we learned. Faulted ceilings we shored with rock and oak; newly dug passages we tested for poisonous air. I liked the even darkness, the even temperature summer or winter, the wet walls of mineral and clay glittering green and red. I liked Cado, and I liked the companionship of the other six I worked with, the respect they showed me and the responsibility I must show them.
In the evenings Artos and I played draughts, or I pored over maps with Ginevra. My small room was stacked with boxes I had sent from Byzantium and Africa, six years’ worth of books, tools, clothes, ornaments, and gifts that I had not seen since I acquired them. I unpacked these things slowly; sometimes Lleu and Goewin helped or watched, fascinated by the mysterious assortment of foreign goods. The twins coaxed me to read to them, or to tell them stories of the distant lands I had seen. I drew comfort from my small chamber and the simple things that surrounded me: the African cats that wandered in and out, the mosaic floor with its three dancing dolphins, the view of the high peaks in the distance, the infant bats in the little box hung outside the window. Once, near evening, Goewin found me outside the house reaching with cupped hands toward the bat box, and she inquired what I held. I stood a moment considering whether she would be frightened or delighted if I showed her, then opened my hands a little to reveal one of the baby bats, a tiny silver thing. "They eat insects," I explained. "Would you like to hold it?"
"Could I?" Goewin said, as though she hardly dared touch something so exotic and fragile. "Will it let me?"
"I think so," I said, giving the warm, exquisite creature into her hands. "They are learning to trust me."
In April the twins were fifteen. In one more year Artos intended to declare Lleu as prince of Britain, the heir to his kingdom. Lleu, the prince of Britain: one could scarcely believe it to look at him, fragile and pale as he was. I worked to make him stronger. I saw that he had plenty to eat, sharing my own food with him when I thought he did not have enough. There was no hunting to be done at this time of year, but the horses must be exercised; we wetedcised; nt on long, easy rides through the raw and muddy countryside. Often Goewin came with us. To Lleu it must have been like a release from prison, to be out of the crowded and dark confines of the Great Hall, or the dreary chill of the villa. I was fiercely glad of the joy and strength he took from the weak, watery sunlight and the smell of damp earth, the cold daffodils and quickening hazel.
Lleu and Goewin also went out on their own, exploring field and forest and the red sandstone contours of the Edge over Elder Field. Goewin has always been a skilled rider and was trying to teach Lleu stunts and jumps; but Lleu did not even share her strength then, let alone her ability. I often came upon them practicing and would watch them racing madly through the unplowed fields, and sometimes I joined them uninvited. I never spoke a single word of disapproval. But I did not like to see Lleu vaulting walls and streams. They both sensed this and were vaguely resentful when I was with them, subdued and ill at ease. I swore to be damned before I let Lleu resent me: no one commanded my compassion. I was neither nurse nor guardian, and he could ride where and how he liked. So when the two began to slip out after dark to ride by moonlight, I told no one and did not try to stop them. When Lleu disastrously ended these escapades by breaking his arm I did not blame myself.
But they came to me for help that night, after all, rather than anyone else. I answered the tentative tapping on my door to find Goewin, for once as pale as her brother, supporting a fainting and battered Lleu. No questions, then; without thinking I caught Lleu in my arms and carried him to my bed as though he were a child of five, not fifteen. As I cut away the shredded remnants of his jacket and shirt I could not help but murmur, "Good God, Princess; what have you done to him? After I spent most of the winter trying to keep him alive, you half kill him in one night."
Goewin stood in the doorway and watched miserably. "We went riding," she said. "I said we should gallop, and I got ahead of him—we had to leap a stream, and he was going too fast to stop. It was dark; he missed the jump and was thrown. I—I couldn’t stop it happening—" Her voice shook. It had been her fault, and she knew it. She knew the limits of Lleu’s skill better than anyone.
"Don’t cry, little Princess," I said. "He’s not dying."
That made her angry. "Little Princess" stung her. She stood in the doorway a moment gazing at me wrathfully, then choked out, "I’ll get you some water." She left the room in a quiet storm, black hair tossing, her hands shut in tight fists.
I lit a lantern. The left sleeve of Lleu’s jacket had been almost sheared off, and I guessed he must have been hurled sideways, landing on the arm and then sliding. One bone was broken cleanly and decisively, beneath skin that was brush-burned raw from shoulder to elbow. "Where else did you hit?" I asked.