Poul Anderson - A Midsummer Tempest

“You are no walking rack to hang a crown on,” Legge added, “but the embodiment of countless hopes.”

Maurice glanced around the table. “If we’ve lost England, we’ve not lost the world,” he said. “We may yet get our King across the Channel. For that, we can’t stay in this rat-trap burgh. Let’s move, before the enemy can act”—he pointed at night and height—“to yonder hill. Dug in upon its crest, we can cast back a hundredfold assault.”

“Then lie besieged,” snorted Eythin. “They’ll thirst and starve us out.”

Maurice nodded. “Aye. But we will have bought those days, you know—mayhap to smuggle him away disguised; mayhap to raise the peasants in our aid and cut a seaward road like Xenophon; mayhap—I cannot tell. We’ll likely fail. But surely we will fail, attempting naught.”

Their eyes went to the King. For a space he stared at his fingers locked on the table before him. At last he sighed: “The prince has right. Ridiculous it is. Yet for the sake of folk who’ve trusted us, if God allow, we’ll raise our exile banner, that they may dream defeat will have an end.”

He rose, went to the window, stood gazing out with hands clasped behind his back. Most softly he spoke.

“There will be other times, my comrades. There will be a day of trumpets. This we must believe. Now when all flags guide corpses to the sea, and ships lie hollow on a smoking shore, broken of bone, and windy shadows weave a dark about tall widows turning whore to feed gashed children, I must say that more days shall remain than hobnailed victors thieve. And if our iron’s broken, there’s still ore—stones of our sharded cities lying free to sharpen it—and if you should perceive rust and the dimness in us, do it silently.”

The vision guttered out, and the fire beneath.

Rupert shouted into night: “We must away to England ere too late!”

“Too late for what?” fluted Ariel.

“To help, or die for him.”

Again it was night, but calm and warmer than before. The moon had just cleared the heights, yellow, an edge bitten out by that murk which lay everywhere on land. The bay and the waters beyond glimmered.

Five stood by that boat which had brought Jennifer. While it was still beached, its mast had been raised and sail unfurled.

“Here is the hour when we may start our flight,” Rupert said. “Let us embark. This day was long to wait.”

“ ’Twas far too short for me, that breath of peace, belike our last, we shared in beauty’s home,” the girl replied.

Hope jumped in him. “Thou’lt stay behind in safety, as I wish?”

“And let thee go?” She summoned a laugh. “Thou art a darling blockhead.”

“I fear she really must accompany,” Ariel said. “What feeble spells thou’st learnt can barely serve when there are moonbeams to uphold this craft she came here in, diminutive though ’tis. Thou’d’st not get far ere morning brought thee down, save that the presence of a virgin maid has always strengthened magic.”

“Well I know!” Rupert snapped. “Stop babbling—” His tone changed. “Nay, I’m sorry, Ariel.”

“I would that I could help thee further, Prince.” The elf’s wings quivered, glow and glitter against forest blackness. “But far from home—surrounded by cold iron—”

“Thou’st aided us beyond our giving thanks.” With infinite care, Rupert bent over and clasped the minute hand in his enormous one.

“Because’tis for the Old Way thou hast drawn thy sword: the wholeness of the living world. Farewell.”

“Farewell.”—“Farewell.”—“God keep thee well.” Words went caressing among them. Ariel fluttered aloft to touch Will’s brow and brush lips across Jennifer’s.

“Good-by,” the dragoon said gruffly to Caliban. “Enjoy tha brandy I’ve bequeathed.”

The monster didn’t hear. His shaggy head never stirred from staring at the maiden, though the rest of him shook with pain. “Thou never wilt come back again, Miranda?” he rasped.

“Only in dreams, I fear,” she answered. Moonlight caught sudden tears. “But always, always I will remember thee, dear Caliban.”

She ran forward, kissed him, and fled to the boat. Rupert and Will had already boarded. The prince stood holding Prospero’s staff on high, the book laid open across his other arm. As Jennifer sprang into the hull, he called: “Our spell is cast; the unseen tides now flow to bear us off. Zain. I conjure thee, rise!”

Silently, smoothly, the vessel lifted. Will looked downward, gulped, squeezed his eyes tight shut, and folded himself as small as possible in the bottom. Jennifer gasped once, then leaned out and waved as long as she had sight of the island. Rupert stood before the mast, staff aimed at the North Star.

Awhile Ariel followed. When he returned, Caliban had not moved on the beach. “What, art thou petrified?” the flyer asked. His japery trembled.

“She kissed me,” the monster whispered.

“Aye. Her sweetness breathes across the whole horizon.”

“Thou dost not understand. She kissed me. Me.” Caliban shook mane and shoulders. “She did. She does.

She will. It cannot die until I do. What need I more than this? How wonderful the world is, Ariel.”

“Ah, well, I’m glad for thee.” The sprite clapped him on the back. “Come to thy rest. I’ll sing thee lullabies of Jennifer.”

Ariel flitting, Caliban trudging, they went on into the woods.

It scudded before a breeze which was part of the enchantment. Nonetheless a hush dwelt in heaven, only deepened by a low thrum in the lines. This far aloft, air was so keen that breath smoked white as the few drifting clouds. Earth rolled vast and vague beneath. Forward, aft, overhead, and right, a purple-black ocean was crowded with stars; to left went the westering moon. Radiance ran down the sail until it lapped the gunwales.

Jennifer had the helm. Rupert stood at a rail, peering over. Will sat in the middle of the mid-most thwart, holding on. The prince pointed to a thread which twisted and gleamed below. “There’s the Dordogne,” he said. His voice was nearly lost in immensity. “We’ll raise our goal ere dawn.”

“How canst thou tell?” the other man inquired.

“I’ve pored o’er many maps. How strange to see the lands themselves like that. They have no borders…”

“Me, I’ll buss tha swile, although it be a barn-yard where we zettle.” Will flickered an uneasy glance. “No disrespect to any Powers, o’ coua’se. But zea or sky, this messin’ around in boats just ben’t for me. Oh, nothin’ liake it, true! Tha which I thank God’s goodness for, amen.”

“When we are down—unarmored, since the spell can scarcely lift more iron than our blades—maybe thou’lt think thou didst enjoy this ride.” Rupert gave a sardonic chuckle. “We chatter thus, while miracles go on.

Perhaps the saints can pass eternity enrapt in solemn bliss; but we are mortal.”

He stepped astern and lowered himself beside Jennifer. “Shall I take o’er thy watch?” he asked. “How dost thou fare?”

“Most marvelously, since it is with thee.” She gave him a smile which, in the strong subtlety of bone and flesh, under huge eyes and moon-frosted hair, was elven as Ariel’s. Gesturing out: “And many of mine oldest friends are here. The Wains are homeward bound the same as us; to ringing of the Lyre, the Swan takes wing across a river clangorous with light; near Pegasus, the Princess waits her hero; and from the sunrise quadrant comes Orion, who will bestride the heavens—art thou he?”

Rupert was still before he answered harshly: “Nay, I’m the Scorpion. Thou canst not see where I am on my peril-poisoned path. How could I bring thee… even for my King?”