The White Mountains (The Tripods) (13 page)

My mind still worried at the subject. The point of loyalty, for instance. Loyalty to whom? The men in the White Mountains did not even know of my existence—to Ozymandias and Captain Curtis I had been just another boy to be sent south, one of dozens. And Henry and Beanpole? Did they want me with them, anyway? They did not give the impression of doing so. Would they not rather be on their own?

The first morning it rained, but the sky cleared for the afternoon and the preliminary jousts took place. I saw Henry and Beanpole afterward, on the trampled field where servants were picking up and clearing away the litter. The castle walls, and the hard finger of the tower, stood out against the setting sun.

Beanpole explained: early next morning was the time to make a break, at dawn, before the kitchen servants were awake. They had put food aside, in their packs. Mine had disappeared, along with my old clothes, but it did not matter, Beanpole said, if I could not find it or anything similar: they had enough for me as well. I was to meet them below the castle gate, at the appointed time.

I shook my head. “I’m not coming.”

Beanpole asked, “Why, Will?”

Henry said nothing, but stood with a smile on his broad face, that I felt I hated, at this moment, even more than I had at home in Wherton. His thoughts, and contempt, were plain.

I said, “If you two go there is a chance you will not be missed, things being confused as they are. But I will be. They will notice that I am not at breakfast, and look for me.”

Henry said, “True enough, Beanpole. The Comte is bound to miss his adopted son.”

I had not realized that that suggestion had leaked out, though I suppose it was inevitable that it should. Beanpole stared at me, his eyes showing nothing behind the lenses.

I said, “I’ll give you a day to get clear, two perhaps. I’ll follow. I’ll try to catch up with you; but don’t wait for me.”

Henry laughed. “We won’t!”

I was telling myself that I had still not come to a decision. It was true that it would be easier for the others to get clear without me, and true that I could follow on after—I knew the map by heart. But true also that tomorrow, on the second day, the Queen of the Tournament was chosen by the assembled knights. And I was sure the choice would fall on Eloise, not because she was the Comte’s only daughter, but because, without doubt, she was the most beautiful that would be there.

Beanpole said slowly, “Very well. Perhaps it is best.”

I said, “Good luck.”

“And you.” His head shook slightly. “Good luck, Will.”

I turned, and walked up the hill to the castle. I heard Henry say something I did not catch, but I did not look back.

I awoke in the early dawn,
and realized there was still time to slip away and join the others, but I did not move from my bed. The window of my room looked south, and I could see that the sky was a deep dark blue—one bright star stood out. I was glad that they would have good weather for traveling, but glad also that it looked as though it would be fine for the second day of the tournament, and the choosing of the Queen. I lay and stared at the sky until I drifted back into sleep, to be awakened a second time by the servant girl tapping on my door. The blue of sky was pale now, and brushed with gold.

There was no mention of Beanpole and Henry—no one seemed to have missed them. It was not surprising that this should be so: today the tournament was in full
swing, everyone was cheerful and excited, and after breakfast we made our way down to the field and the pavilions. But not Eloise. She would come down later with the other ladies who offered themselves for the knights’ choosing. We took our places in the pavilion, and while we waited a singer entertained us with ballads. Then came the hush, as the ladies entered the ring.

There were eleven of them, and ten were dressed in great finery, with dresses that had much silver and gold thread and needed to be held up behind by serving girls so that they would not trail in the dust. Their heads were bare, their hair piled high and secured with combs that flashed and dazzled in the sunlight. The eleventh was Eloise. She wore, of course, the turban on her head, and her dress was simple—dark blue, trimmed with delicate white lace. As youngest she came last, with no servant accompanying her. To a low beat of drums, the ladies walked across the field to where the knights stood assembled in front of the Comte’s pavilion, and, as the fanfare of trumpets sounded, remained there, their heads cast down.

One by one, they stepped forward. It was the custom that, as each did so, the knight who chose her unsheathed his sword, and raised it. After the first two or three, there was no doubt what the result would be. Out of the thirty or forty knights, a couple saluted each lady, so that none should be shamed. This happened with all the gorgeously appareled ten. And so Eloise stepped forward, in her simple dress, and the swords swept up like a forest of silver in the sun, and first the
knights and then those watching shouted their acclamation, and I wanted to cry and laugh at the same time.

She came forward, the other ladies following, and stood there, grave and brave in her dignity, while her father, the Comte, carefully fitted the crown over the turban on her head. And her subjects filed past to kiss her hand, myself among them.

I did not see her to speak to for the rest of that day, but I did not mind this. She had her duty, to preside, to give prizes to the victors, and for me there was excitement enough in the tournament itself, in cheering on those I had come to know, and in the whole atmosphere of feasting and merrymaking.

There was only one chilling moment. As the second session of the day began, there was a strange sound far away, which became louder. It was a constant repetition on five notes, a metallic clanging, and although I had not heard this particular call, I knew it could only be a Tripod. I looked in the direction from which it was coming, but the castle stood in the way and I could see nothing. I looked also at the people around me, and saw that none showed more than a mild interest: the contest going on in the ring, with four knights on each side, continued to hold their attention. Even when the hemisphere rocked around the outline of the castle, and the Tripod came and stood towering over the field, its feet planted in the river, there was no sign of the fear and uneasiness which shivered along my spine.

It was plain that this was not an unusual event, that a Tripod always attended the tournament and that they
found no cause for alarm in it. Of course, they were more accustomed to the sight of the Tripods than we had been at Wherton, where we only saw one on Capping Day. Almost every day one saw them here, singly or in groups, striding across the valley. I had grown used to the sight, too—at that distance. Being right under its shadow was different. I looked up at it, fearfully. I noticed that, around the sides of the hemisphere and in the base, were circles of what looked like green-tinted glass. Did it see through those? I supposed so. I had not noticed them before, because at Wherton I had never dared look at a Tripod closely. Nor did I for long now. One of the circles had me directly in its view. I dropped my eyes to watch the tournament, but my mind was not on it.

And yet, as time passed, my disquiet subsided. The Tripod had made no sound since it took up its position by the castle, and it did not move at all. It was just there, presiding or watching or merely standing up against the sky, and one became inured to its presence, and regardless of it. After an hour, I was cheering on a favorite of mine, the Chevalier de Trouillon, with no thought beyond the hope that, after two falls on each side, he would win the final tilt. He did, and his opponent rolled in the beaten and withered grass, and like everyone else I cheered him to the echo.

There was a feast that evening, as there would be every night of the tournament, and since the weather was fine, it was held in the courtyard. The household of the Comte, and those knights who had their ladies with them, were seated, and food was brought to
them; the rest served themselves from the tables at the side, which were laden with different kinds of fish and meat, vegetables and fruit and sweets and puddings, and where tall jugs of wine stood. (Not a great deal was drunk while we were there, but the knights stayed on after the ladies had gone in to the tower, and torches were lit, and there was singing, and some shouting, until very late.) I could not count the number of dishes. It was not merely the different kinds of meat and fowl and fish, but the different ways each kind might be prepared and sauced. They counted eating a fine art in a way that I do not think even Sir Geoffrey would have understood, and certainly no one in Wherton itself.

I went in with the ladies, very full and happy. The Tripod was still where it had been all afternoon, but one saw it only as a dark shape against the stars, something remote and almost unimportant. From the window of my room, I could not see it at all. There was the bright shawl of the Milky Way, and the torches down in the courtyard—nothing else. I heard a tap on my door, and called
“Entrez!”
I turned to see it open, and Eloise slipped in.

She was still wearing the blue gown trimmed with lace, though she had put the crown aside. Before I could speak, she said, “Will, I cannot stay. I managed to get away, but they will be looking for me.”

I understood that. As Queen of the Tournament, her position was special. While it lasted, there could be no pleasant talks, no wandering away. I said, “They chose well. I am glad, Eloise.”

She said, “I wanted to say good-bye, Will.”

“It will not be for long. A few days. Then, when I am Capped …”

She shook her head. “I shall not see you again. Did you not know?”

“But I am to stay here. Your father said so, only this morning.”

“You will stay, but not I. Did no one tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“When the tournament is over, the Queen goes to serve the Tripods. It is always done.”

I said stupidly, “Serve them where?”

“In their city.”

“But for how long?”

“I have told you. For ever.”

Her words shocked me, but the look on her face was more shocking still. It was a kind of rapt devotion, the expression of someone who hugs in secret her heart’s desire.

Dazed, I asked her, “Your parents know this?”

“Of course.”

They had, as I knew, deeply missed their sons, sent away for a few years only to learn knighthood in another household. And this was their daughter, whom they loved perhaps more dearly still, and she was to go to the Tripods and never return … and all day long I had seen them happy and rejoicing. It was monstrous. I burst out: “You must not! I won’t let it happen.” She smiled at me, and gave a small shake of the head, like an adult listening to a child’s wild talk. “Come away with me,” I said.
“We’ll go where there are no Tripods. Come away now!”

She said, “When you are Capped, you will understand.”

“I will not be Capped!”

“You will understand.” She drew a gasp of breath. “I am so happy.” She came forward, took my hands and, leaning forward, kissed me, a peck of a kiss on the cheek. “So happy!” she repeated. She went back to the door, while I stood there. “I must go now. Good-bye, Will. Remember me. I will remember you.”

And was gone, out of the door, her feet pattering away down the corridor, before I could come out of my trance. I went to the door then, but the corridor was empty. I called, but there was only my voice echoing back to me from stone walls: I even took a few steps to follow her, before I stopped. It was no good. Not only because there would be other people there, but because of Eloise herself. “I will remember you.” She had forgotten me already, in any sense that truly mattered. All her mind was concentrated on the Tripods. Her masters had called, and she was going to them gladly.

I went back into my room, and undressed, and tried to sleep. There were too many kinds of horror. Horror at what had happened to Eloise. Horror of the creatures who could do this sort of thing to others. Horror, above all, at how closely I had come to falling—no, to throwing myself—into something beside which suicide was clean and good. What had happened was not Eloise’s fault. She had accepted Capping as the countless others
had done, not understanding and knowing no alternative. But I had understood, and had known better. I thought of the blankness in Beanpole’s face, the contempt in Henry’s, the last time I had seen them, and was ashamed.

The noise of revelry in the courtyard had long died away. I lay, tossing and turning, and saw a softer wider light than starlight coloring the frame of the window. I halted my thoughts in their futile round of self-accusation; and began to make plans.

It was dark inside the house as I went quietly down the stairs, but outside it was light enough to see my way. There was no one about, nor would be for a couple of hours, at least. Even the servants slept later during the days of tournament. I made my way to the kitchens, and found one of them snoring under a table; presumably he had been too drunk to go to his bed. There was little danger of him waking up. I had brought a pillowslip from my bed, and I piled remnants from the previous night’s feast into it: a couple of roast chickens, half a turkey, loaves of bread, cheese and cold sausage. Then I went to the stables.