Read Online The Princess and the Hound by Mette Ivie Harrison - Free Book Online
Authors: Mette Ivie Harrison
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did not judge for many years after that, not even in the first year of my kingship.” The king’s voice wavered. “In my place I sent another, whom I thought the people must trust better than they did me.”
George was unsure how to react. His conversations with his father were usually brief and formal. He had never heard his father talk about his youth and certainly not about any failure.
“I promise you this. I shall make sure that the case you are given is a true one, with no players. And whatever judgment you give, I shall not gainsay it. Yours will be the last word on the matter. And so you will learn to trust yourself, as I never did.”
“B-but—” George stuttered.
The king stopped him with a raised hand. “A king cannot show his doubts before others, however much he feels them. If he does wrong, he must live with it. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Father,” said George miserably.
The king dismissed him, and George left in a whirl of emotions. A real judgment. His judgment. Tomorrow.
All night George writhed in an agony of fear and anticipation. He had hardly fallen asleep when Sir Stephen came to wake him, and then he sleepily pulled on his best leggings and tunic and the silver circlet that proclaimed him prince.
It was spring, still cool in the morning, though it might become unbearably hot later in the day with so many people in one room. George settled himself in the chair that was his father’s and felt his father’s large hand on his shoulder with pride. Then the doors were open, and the people streamed in.
There were murmurs when George was seen in his father’s place, but King Davit gave a short speech to explain what this was about. Then a man, struggling in ropes that bound his hands behind his back, was pushedforward by a half-dozen men. They all were farmers by the look of their clothing and the pattern of calluses on their hands. The man in bonds had greasy blond hair that fell into his face as he moved, but he could not push it away. He spat at George’s feet when forced to kneel before him.
George wanted to look up at his father, but he kept his eyes straight ahead. He would do this alone.
“Speak your piece,” George said. They were his father’s words and had become the traditional opening of each hearing on judgment day.
One of the men, with several missing teeth, came forward. “All year long we work our fields, feed our beasts. Two years ago there was a terrible plague of locusts that ate everything they could. But his”—a nod to the bound man—“his fields were left alone, and he had a full crop come harvesttime.
“Last year half our animals died from some disease. But his did not. This year we watched him. He walks the fields at night, protecting his plants. He goes to his animals at night, speaks to them. They speak back to him. He has it: the animal magic.”
The hall went still.
George felt cold sweat drip down his back. He did not look up at his father.
“And you: speak your piece,” George spoke to the bound man through numb lips.
The man spat again, at George’s feet. “That’s all thewitness you’ll get me to speak against my own self,” he said.
George stared at the man. Did he not realize that this was his one chance to deny he had the animal magic? He could give some excuse for what he did with his animals, say that he was only lucky in the way his crops and animals had survived the last few years. He could say there was some other reason for his success, the seeds he planted, or the way he fertilized them—anything.
“They’ll rally the animals against us all,” said one of the other men, cowering with his head behind his hands, as if afraid that even in the presence of the king and the prince, the man with animal magic was the most dangerous to offend. His body shook with fear.
George tried to think of a solution. He turned his eyes to the man with animal magic. He looked to the angry accusers. How could he make a proper judgment?
George was unsure how to react. His conversations with his father were usually brief and formal. He had never heard his father talk about his youth and certainly not about any failure.
“I promise you this. I shall make sure that the case you are given is a true one, with no players. And whatever judgment you give, I shall not gainsay it. Yours will be the last word on the matter. And so you will learn to trust yourself, as I never did.”
“B-but—” George stuttered.
The king stopped him with a raised hand. “A king cannot show his doubts before others, however much he feels them. If he does wrong, he must live with it. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Father,” said George miserably.
The king dismissed him, and George left in a whirl of emotions. A real judgment. His judgment. Tomorrow.
All night George writhed in an agony of fear and anticipation. He had hardly fallen asleep when Sir Stephen came to wake him, and then he sleepily pulled on his best leggings and tunic and the silver circlet that proclaimed him prince.
It was spring, still cool in the morning, though it might become unbearably hot later in the day with so many people in one room. George settled himself in the chair that was his father’s and felt his father’s large hand on his shoulder with pride. Then the doors were open, and the people streamed in.
There were murmurs when George was seen in his father’s place, but King Davit gave a short speech to explain what this was about. Then a man, struggling in ropes that bound his hands behind his back, was pushedforward by a half-dozen men. They all were farmers by the look of their clothing and the pattern of calluses on their hands. The man in bonds had greasy blond hair that fell into his face as he moved, but he could not push it away. He spat at George’s feet when forced to kneel before him.
George wanted to look up at his father, but he kept his eyes straight ahead. He would do this alone.
“Speak your piece,” George said. They were his father’s words and had become the traditional opening of each hearing on judgment day.
One of the men, with several missing teeth, came forward. “All year long we work our fields, feed our beasts. Two years ago there was a terrible plague of locusts that ate everything they could. But his”—a nod to the bound man—“his fields were left alone, and he had a full crop come harvesttime.
“Last year half our animals died from some disease. But his did not. This year we watched him. He walks the fields at night, protecting his plants. He goes to his animals at night, speaks to them. They speak back to him. He has it: the animal magic.”
The hall went still.
George felt cold sweat drip down his back. He did not look up at his father.
“And you: speak your piece,” George spoke to the bound man through numb lips.
The man spat again, at George’s feet. “That’s all thewitness you’ll get me to speak against my own self,” he said.
George stared at the man. Did he not realize that this was his one chance to deny he had the animal magic? He could give some excuse for what he did with his animals, say that he was only lucky in the way his crops and animals had survived the last few years. He could say there was some other reason for his success, the seeds he planted, or the way he fertilized them—anything.
“They’ll rally the animals against us all,” said one of the other men, cowering with his head behind his hands, as if afraid that even in the presence of the king and the prince, the man with animal magic was the most dangerous to offend. His body shook with fear.
George tried to think of a solution. He turned his eyes to the man with animal magic. He looked to the angry accusers. How could he make a proper judgment?
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