The Prince in Waiting by John Christopher Page A

acclaimed him, could have anticipated. Wherever he went in the city people crowded round him, touching him when they could, blessing him in the name of the Spirits. When he rode out at the head of his army they cheered themselves silly: I saw a fat middle-aged man, having been pushed or having stumbled to a fall, lying in the gutter but still yelling for the Prince. He was drunk, of course, from ale, but the whole city was drunk on the subtler brew of pride.
    I had begged to be allowed to go with him on the campaign but had been refused. He smiled at me.
    â€œIn a couple of years you will have all the fighting you want. But even with a jeweled sword you are no match yet for the men of Alton. And though the Spirits having promised you a crown greater than your father’s no doubt will protect you, they require a man to look to his own safety as well. The Spirits like to be respected but they are inclined to grow impatient with anyone who trusts to their help beyond common sense. This year you stay in the city.”
    Peter said: “There’s a price to pay for everything, Luke, including being heir to the Princedom.”
    They smiled at each other and grinned at me. I had been uneasy with Peter after the Seance of the Crowns, thinking he must resent my being preferred over him, even though the preference was that of the Spirits. Even when he had congratulated me I had been wary, looking for signs hidden in his face and bearing. But I came to realize that there was nothing to find. His feelings for me were as warm and friendly as they had always been: he rejoiced in our father’s rise to power and also in my being chosen heir.
    We were in the palace. The room was quite small, merely an antechamber to the great Room of Mirrors which Stephen had most used for retirement. My father said it was too big: he did not like to hear his own voice echoing back at him. Nor did he care to see his own face whichever way he looked. So he had furnished the antechamber with simple things, including his wooden armchair from our old house, and he escaped there when court life bored him beyond bearing—which was not infrequently.
    He said now to Peter: “A price for everything, you are right, and a duty, but the duties lie heavier on some than on others. I have never been a nay-sayer and I have already ordered the dwarfs to brew an ale to celebrate a victory at the Autumn Fair, but accidents can happen. I may fall off my horse and be trampled.”
    We smiled at that. He was a superb horseman, his horse, a big chesnut called Guinea, the surest-footed in the city’s stables. He smiled as well, but went on:
    â€œOr die of eating Alton’s ailing cattle. If any such thing should happen, Peter, I leave you a duty, to look after Luke.”
    â€œI can look after myself,” I said.
    â€œI don’t doubt it, but a wise man takes help where he can. As you know, there are some among those who have acclaimed me who do not wish me well. It did not please them when the Spirits crowned Luke. They are quiet just now because they have no choice. But if I were killed in battle . . .”
    Peter nodded. “I follow that.”
    I said: “Watch whom you ride with, Father. The men of Alton may not be the only danger.”
    â€œGood advice, but I am already watching. That is part of being a Prince: one’s eyes do not get much rest. And the more so in a case like mine, a man born common and chosen Prince because others with better claims could not resolve their quarrel.” He looked at Peter. “You will see to this?”
    â€œI will see to it,” Peter said.
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    The person who was bitterly aggrieved by what had happened at the Seance, and showed it, was my Aunt Mary. When I went to her house, although she did not say anything and I sat down to dinner at her table as I had always done, I could tell her disapproval. It was not that she was sharper with me or