Free The Sword of the Spirits by John Christopher Page B

wither without nourishment. It is better that you do not see her for a time.”
    I twitched my horse’s rein, turning her head back toward the city. Edmund said: “Hold, Luke.”
    â€œWell?”
    â€œHave you spoken to Blodwen of this?”
    It might have been better to lie, but I could not.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhat did you say to her?”
    â€œI asked her if she had betrayed me with you. She swore she had not. I knew she spoke truth.”
    â€œAnd what else?”
    I echoed him: “What else?”
    His voice had changed. There was boldness in it.
    â€œYou put a question to her and got your answer. But still you need to send me away to Oxford. Is it only my weakness you fear? What reassurance did you seek from Blodwen, and not find?”
    I said: “What passes between Blodwen and me is our concern, not yours.”
    â€œYou are wrong, Luke! I will not go on your mission until I have put a question to her. And if her answer is what I think it may be, then you must find another man for Oxford.”
    I felt cold again: a cold sharper and more inward than that which the wind scoured from the ugly sky.
    â€œYou will not try to take her from me.”
    â€œNot unless she puts out a hand to me. But if she does, nothing will stop me taking it.”
    â€œNot friendship?”
    â€œNot anything!”
    He spoke exultantly. I said:
    â€œAnd if I beg you?”
    All my body trembled. I felt tears start in my eyes, and blinked them back.
    He said: “Do not beg for something which I cannot give.”
    â€œCannot, or will not?”
    â€œWhat difference is there? There are strengths beyond our own.”
    I said, wonderingly, to myself almost: “I never doubted your loyalty. I would have doubted my own sooner. I know my weaknesses and I gave you best in friendship. But I could not do such injury to a friend. I would die first.”
    The day was lighter, and I saw him flush. He said:
    â€œYou are my friend, but Blodwen I love. There is a difference in our natures. I do not think you have ever truly loved. Or ever could.”
    â€œI loved you,” I said, “who were my friend.”
    He shook his head. “Talking does no good.”
    â€œListen,” I said. “Forget friendship, if it means so little to you. Have you thought of the harm thatcan come from this? Not just to us, but to the city.”
    â€œYou have got your city,” he said. “Keep it. We do not want it.”
    He linked her desires with his, as though of right. Pain raked its claws through me. I said:
    â€œEven if I would, I could not let you have her. I am Prince of the city and she, daughter of the King of the Wilsh, is to be my bride. If it is not held to I am no Prince, and chaos follows.”
    â€œThen let it follow. You cannot stop us, Luke.”
    â€œI am Prince,” I said. “I have some powers.”
    We rode together back to the city and in silence. The guard saluted us again at the East Gate, and I bade him bring the Sergeant. He was out of the guardhouse on the instant. His name was Tunney, one of Harding’s men, old for a warrior but still powerful. I pointed to Edmund.
    â€œArrest him.”
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    Blodwen said: “Luke, what have you done?”
    Her face was white and she showed signs of haste. She had come unannounced to where I sat in my parlor. It was early still. Outside the window a few small flakes of snow drifted slowly down.
    I said: “In what way, lady?”
    â€œThey say that Edmund is under guard. Because of what I said last night? I promise you . . .”
    I thought she might lie, to save him, and did not want to hear it. I cut across her words.
    â€œI gave an order to a Captain and he refused to obey it. That is all and that is enough.”
    â€œWhat order?”
    I told her of the mission to Oxford. Her eyes were on my face as I spoke, and I watched her watching me. At the end