The Chosen Prince Part 10

"When did they take him?"

"Last month. He wasn't yet eighteen, but they said he was close enough."

"I shall tell my father."

Her smile is bitter. "And he will care?"

"He might. May I ask what your son had with him in the way of weaponry?"

"He made a spear. He has a knife."

"Well, the G.o.ds willing, he won't need them. For I shall, as you suggested, go to the borderlands to pay my respects. Then I will bring him home to you."

"No. You can't do that. He is already sworn to the king; to leave the army would be desertion. I'd rather he died honorably in battle than at the end of a noose. And even if that were not so, he'd be ashamed to come back when every other mother's son is down there fighting."

"Then I will have him transferred to the Royal Guard."

"Huh!" she says with a mirthless laugh. "Like those men out there, you mean? The ones with the shiny armor and the fancy helmets?"

"Yes."

"You don't know much, do you?"

"Apparently not."

"Peles is not like them. All he knows is farming."

"And running."

"Yes, running too."

"And patching roofs and plastering walls."

"He can do practical things. He knows how to work with his hands. But he's humble and unschooled, while they're all gentle born and educated fellows who've never touched a plow in their lives. He would be laughed out of your Royal Guard."

"You are correct that they are different. My men inherited their high station, and life has been easy for them, whereas your son is a champion who earned his greatness through merit. To my mind, that makes him infinitely more deserving."

"You're not proud-for a prince."

"I have a lot to be humble about."

"If I'd spoken to the soldiers who took my Peles the way I've talked to you this day, they'd have had my head in a moment."

"Then it's well you did not."

"And your father-is he proud?"

"He's a king, madam. He has spent his life fighting for Arcos and has many scars to show for it. He has every reason to be proud."

She looks pointedly at his legs. "They say you were chosen by Athene to rid us of our misery."

"Do they?"

"Yes. It is widely believed. I wonder, though."

Now it's his turn to laugh. "So do I, madam. So do I."

"I didn't think you'd answer straight."

"And you were correct. He's your only son, then-Peles?"

"Yes."

"And your husband?"

"Dead."

"That's very cruel."

"It's very common." She softens a bit. "I admire you for coming here, Prince Alexos-to see how we suffer. And if you are indeed what people say, then I beg you to have your conference with the G.o.ds sooner rather than later. Else there will be nothing left of Arcos to save."

"That rests in the hands of Athene. But I promise to rescue your son if he still lives. Then I'll set him some useful tasks that will make a difference in the lives of the people-as he already has with the roads."

"Who told you?"

"You just did. I only guessed and you confirmed it. Have you a message for me to give your son when I see him?"

She loses her composure. Blinking back tears, she stammers, "Say . . . say he is the best boy that ever was. And . . . I am proud of him."

Alexos feels tears rising in his eyes, too. "I will, madam. I will say it exactly as you did just now, for those are the words every son longs to hear, and Peles well deserves them."

He rises from the stool now. She marvels at his maneuvers with the brace and the cane. When he gestures with his free hand that he needs her support for a moment, she rushes to hold him steady till he has his balance.

"Riding a horse takes its toll," he says, "my legs being as they are."

"Does it hurt?"

"Of course it does."

"Oh."

She opens the door. t.i.tus and Leander are waiting to hoist him back up into the saddle. But before they can get started, the mother of Peles calls him back.

"Prince Alexos," she says. "One more word?"

He hobbles back to the doorway. Now that Alexos is standing, not sitting face-to-face with her on little stools, he is struck by how small she is-small, helpless, poor, and alone, yet incredibly ferocious and brave. He senses there is something important to know about this, something he ought to remember in the future, about the people he will someday rule, and about the smallness of mortals in the eyes of the G.o.ds. He isn't sure he has it all, or understands it properly, but it kneads at his heart.

"What is it?" he says.

"I just wanted to say"-she is whispering now; her words are only for Alexos and she doesn't want the others to hear-"that you also have reason to be proud, same as your father. You are a good boy and I know you'll make a fine king one day."

"Thank you, lady," he says. "I hope you are right. But for now, at the very least, I will find your son."

They are well away, riding in silence, before Leander finally speaks. "That was inappropriate, you know, the way she behaved. Your father would never tolerate such rudeness and familiarity."

"No. I hate to think what he would have done."

"Yet you didn't even raise your voice. Was that wise?"

Alexos swings his head around, suddenly angry. "Don't presume to tell me how to be a prince," he snaps. "You have no idea."

Leander is stunned. Alexos has never pulled rank on him like that before. And it's all the more wounding to Leander because that peasant woman had been allowed to say any old thing she liked, whereas he was brought up short for merely asking if that was wise.

Suddenly, on the impulse of a moment, Leander makes a face. It's one he perfected in his younger days, when the boys used to mock Alexos, usually as soon as he had left the room. They'd all done it, but Leander's imitation was by far the best: chin up, lips slightly parted, lids drooping lazily, brows raised.

Leander knows in an instant that he's made a terrible mistake. It was childish and cruel, making that face. Worse, it wasn't even a good likeness. Alexos isn't proud; he doesn't look down his nose. He is just deeply, painfully private.

"That woman back there," Alexos says, drilling Leander with his eyes, "has lost what little she ever had. She is desperate, sad, and alone. She knows nothing of kings and princes except what they take from her. Why should I be cruel to her?"

"I'm so sorry, Alexos."

"And she is perhaps the first truly honest person I have ever met."

They don't say anything more; they just ride together, staring straight ahead. Both of them are thinking hard about what was said and done, feeling heartsick about it. But it's Leander who finally breaks the silence.

"That was extraordinary, what you said: the first truly honest person."

"Was it?"

"Yes. Did you mean that she was honest because she was rude, even to you?"

"Don't make it complicated, Leander. She showed her true feelings and said exactly what was in her heart. No one ever does that, especially people like her when speaking to someone like me. It was a terrible risk. But it was also a gift. I learned a lot from our little exchange, things that will help me be a better king. Had she bowed and sc.r.a.ped and treated me like some descending G.o.d, I would have learned nothing at all."

Leander is mulling this over when Alexos turns and gives him a probing look. "And that impression you did of me back there, I learned a lot from that, too."

"Oh, G.o.ds, Alexos. I was just really hurt and angry."

"I know that. But you've done it before, I would guess many times-behind my back, to entertain the others. You might have waited, you know, till I had time to be well away, so I couldn't hear the laughter."

"Oh, Alexos, I'm so sorry. That was a long time ago. We were cruel, stupid little boys."

"Yes, and I shouldn't have mentioned it. I know you're not like that anymore." He looks down at his hands holding the reins. He's making a decision. Then his eyes rise to meet Leander's with an almost beseeching look.

"The mother of Peles has inspired me to be honest, too. So forgive me, Leander, if this sounds strange. I value our friendship very much-not because you are the greatest star in the firmament, which you are, always the best of the best, the prize, the one everyone adores, but because you are kind to me. You make me laugh and are at ease in my company. You treat me like a person, Leander. So I'm sorry I spoke as I did. I don't like the way it sounded. And it would break my heart if I were ever to lose you as a friend."

"G.o.ds, Alexos!" Leander laughs out loud, his face alight with pleasure. "You can certainly rest easy on that account! I would follow you into a gorgon's den. You have only to ask."

"I shall tell my father that," he says with a wicked grin.

"Your father? Why?"

"His men worship him, you see. They would walk on burning coals for him. He a.s.sures me this is true."

"Oh?"

"Yes. But he feels I fall rather short in that department-inspiring devotion, having friends, being liked, that sort of thing. So it struck me when you said that, how close it was to my father's words, and it made me smile. I much prefer the gorgon's den to the burning coals, by the way."

"Oh, I agree, if I do say so myself."

"A far richer metaphor. I can just see you running into the cave, wildly slashing the air with your sword while covering your eyes with the other hand, lest the sight of the gorgon's hideous face and snakelike hair strike you instantly blind."

"I think it's turned to stone, not blinded. But listen, Alexos. While we're speaking our hearts like the mother of Peles, I have a confession to make. I overheard what she said to you as we were about to leave. I wasn't trying to listen in, I promise."

"That's all right."

"Well, I bring it up now because, while it was nice what she said, and it was close to the mark, she didn't do you half credit. You are not a good boy, Alexos; you are an astonishing human being. And you will make a remarkable king one day."

17.

THEY'VE BEEN RIDING SINCE daybreak through a treeless landscape, monotonous and empty. Now, at midafternoon, there isn't a cloud in the sky. The boys are wearing wide-brimmed hats against the punishing sun, but nothing can really protect them. It beats relentlessly down on their backs and arms; the hard-packed clay reflects its rays up into their faces. The road shimmers dizzily in the terrible heat. It's like being inside an oven. The horses are near their limit and the boys are exhausted. Their one universal thought is, How much farther?

So they are beyond grateful when Nestor, the captain of the prince's guard, halts on the crest of a ridge. "Behold the famous borderlands," he says. "Gentlemen, come have a look."

They ride forward and gaze eagerly down at the encampment below. t.i.tus speaks for all of them when he says, "Huh?"

"Not what you expected?" Nestor says with a grin.

"No," Alexos says. "I thought it would just be a lot of tents."

"Really, my lord? Why?"

"Because that's how an army camp is always described, at least in the stories of the ancient wars. Tents and huts, unless there's a ship nearby to sleep on."

"True, my lord. But remember, our war is very different from theirs. Tents are useful when you're on the move, advancing or retreating. But our border hasn't changed since the Punishment began. So doesn't it seem natural and wise to build a permanent headquarters with everything an army needs?"

"It does indeed, Nestor. It makes perfect sense."

But it's more than a little disappointing. The elements of hardship and danger were essential parts of his boyish fantasies about life on the borderlands. He'd pictured his father in his tent at night, lying on a camp cot wrapped only in his cloak, shivering with cold while the winter blasts shook the fragile canvas walls.

There were many variations on this same theme, involving blood and wounds, sleeplessness and dirt, cold food, and every other form of harsh discomfort that his adolescent brain could devise. And the selfless life of misery his father supposedly endured had always made it easier to forgive Ektor's taunts and jibes, his coldness, and his cruelty. Now Alexos almost wants to laugh.