Beyond the Burning Lands by John Christopher

Author:John Christopher
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aladdin

SEVEN

THE BAYEMOT

ONLY TWO ROADS LED OUT of Klan Gothlen; that to the east along which we had come and another that ran westward up the river valley. It was this we took when the court rode out to the hunt, postponed from the previous day because of the weather. There had been a little rain and some wind and it was cold, the King said, for the time of year. This morning there was patchy sunshine and the wind was less sharp. It blew into our faces, undoing the careful set of the King’s hair and beard, and jangling the bells on the reins of the jennets.

Yes, jennets. Because in the hunts of the Wilsh as in their banquets the ladies shared the pleasure of their men. This deepened my contempt for their idea of sport but offered a compensation. The King was ahead, behind his outriders, deep in conversation with his Chancellor, Snake. Ten yards behind them rode Edmund and I, and Blodwen rode between us.

It was not that I was any more at ease in her presence than I ever was with girls. I could not think of things to say and stumbled in my replies when she put questions to me. It was Edmund now who kept up conversation with her while I, for the most part, stayed silent. And yet I was entirely happy to be with her. Not just because of her beauty, though the sidelong glances I snatched dazzled me. There was something else in her—a quality that I seemed never to have encountered before, made up of warmth and liveliness and gentle goodness.

She wore a black costume as Wilsh ladies did to the Hunt—the men, even the flamboyant King, were dressed alike in scarlet jackets—but her jennet was pure white. She carried a small whip, for ornament only I guessed. These ladies did not sit astride their horses but sideways, with both stirrups against the beast’s left flank. It looked a poor way of controlling even a pony, but she handled hers well. Her small hands were firm on the reins.

In my concern with watching her I did not realize she had addressed a remark to me until she reached across, laughing, and tapped my shoulder with the whip.

“Woolgathering, Luke!” I looked at her directly. “Or brooding on some great project, from the fierceness of your gaze.”

“I am sorry, my Lady. What was it you said?”

She gently chided: “Not ‘my Lady.’ Edmund must address me so, not being of royal blood, but to you I shall be Cousin. Or Blodwen. Since you are son of a Prince and a Prince’s heir.” She looked from one to the other of us. “You are very different. How did you come to be friends?”

“Through fighting,” Edmund said.

Her brow creased in bewilderment. “Fighting?”

Edmund grinned. “Yes, my Lady. I insulted him and we rolled in the gutter together. And he beat me and after that we were friends. It is very simple.”

“But how could you fight when he was your Prince’s son? And how dared you insult him?”

“Our customs are different from yours.

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