"While the light lasts, I shall remember, and in the darkness I shall not forget."
Agatha Christie, While The Light Lasts
While The Light Lasts Chapter Two – High Noon
They looked at her as if she were mad.
"Take him alive!"
"Take him alive," repeated Catharine firmly.
"Why?"
"We may be able to ransom him, and that would be helpful. Secondly, I want him to go through agony – the same pain that he put me through when he murdered my family."
A light of comprehension flickered into Edmund's face. It died almost immediately at Catharine's next words.
"But personal reasons have nothing to do with this. If he is captured, then he is not to die with the rest of the prisoners."
Edmund decided that all females were crazy and restrung his bow without even noticing.
Catharine watched him do this and decided that all males were crazy and ran her paw over the edge of her sword without noticing the blood.
*
Catharine finished dictating her message to the Pargiters. Edmund ended his script with a flourish, and told her to make her mark just above the single line of writing.
To Valen Cruelsword, Captain of the Pargiters at Prent.
This is your last chance to leave Tarrence and Prent unharmed. If you have not left by sunset tomorrow, then we will attack Prent and raise the siege of Tarrence with such ferocity that it is likely that you yourself will be killed. We Aquilians have no fear of you usurpers. For the love of Sante, and to save your own miserable lives, leave now without further ado. Give us your answer by midnight tonight.Signed,
XCatharine Richmond.
"I'll teach you how to read and write during the campaign," offered Edmund generously. "It does help, because a lot of creatures will cheat you if you can't."
"All right."
Catharine thought of her sister Magdalen, who had almost been a saint. She'd even had a slight aura about her, which her siblings had taken for Loren's, the god of light and truth, blessing. Dorothea had been another such. She had loved and admired her sisters for that, but had often been exasperated with their – in her eyes – weakness. They had accepted everything as Sante's will, while she and the others had plotted their escape. They'd only managed to persuade them through saying that Sante might want them to use their intelligence and resourcefulness – for they were both, no matter how mild and saintly they were – in escaping. And what had it brought them? Death!
She remembered Agnese and Rodrigo. They had been the eldest, or Agnese had been, with Rodrigo half a season younger. They'd been the most handsome of the family, Agnese having an air of heavenly radiance about her, though she was far from being a Magdalen or Dorothea, in addition to the traditional family good looks. Rodrigo was an adventurer, no doubt about that, and there'd been a fatally attractive charm about the noble prisoner. All his thoughts, however, had been wrapped up in escape and vengeance on his captors. It had been a young mousemaid who had betrayed him, she had fallen in love with him, and become jealous of his preoccupation with something else, believing it was for another maid. It was said she had taken her own life in grief when he had been ceremonially stabbed through the heart in Borun Square. Catharine wished she'd been there, she had not hated the mousemaid for their betrayal, she had understood. They all had. Rodrigo, uncharacteristically, blamed himself, and had told the crowd so at his death. There had been riots in the mobs. 'Such a shame for two so young and beautiful!' they said. Not really. Agnese and Rodrigo had been made for youth, not age, and had died accordingly. No one thought about what they would have been like – perhaps even now they would have showed signs of ageing, being much older than Catharine, who was only a few seasons away from the time when she would have been free to do anything.
Then Frederick and Cadoc had died from torture. Their torturer had been a little harsh with the rack and other torture implements, Valen Cruelsword had said. It was true, for once, but the two had been troubled with fits of trembling and were suffering from a strange wasting sickness, and they would have faded away anyway. Catharine wondered suddenly whether her brothers had been poisoned, too…
Cruelsword had been the executioner of Agnese and Rodrigo, she had been forced to watch them die, and it was he who had passed judgement on them. He had worked the rack with his own paws, screwed the pawscrews himself, and again, he was the king's chief minister, and so decided their fate. She had known it was he who smothered her sisters, he had a certain peculiarity of walk, and she, crouched on her hard mattress, had closed her eyes tightly, feigning sleep, but listening intently. And it was certainly he who had decided to separate her from her youngest brother Giles. He was about half a season older than Juna, if he still lived, being a little older than Catharine, but less mature, if she remembered correctly.
She knew it was folly to want revenge on Cruelsword. But how badly she wanted to avenge her family! There was nothing more dear to her heart than that.
Catharine resolutely shut those thoughts away. There was a battle to plan, and she was determined to win.
Edmund entered her tent. He was angry, she could tell that by the way he was moving, jerkily, almost tremblingly, and Edmund would never be afraid of a battle such a long time before it began.
"The answer?"
Edmund paused before bringing out a scroll from behind his back.
"Read it to me."
He bit his lip, seeming to search for a way out. Then:
"They've made some lewd remarks."
"So did half of the council," returned Catharine dryly. "Don't, then. But – '' she swung round menacingly – "if it's something important, don't you dare – ''
"It's nothing of the sort," Edmund assured her hastily. "Just a lot of insults, and the underlying message (it's very subtle, I wasn't sure whether it wasn't a 'yes' and a lot of nasty things being said because they'd been frightened away) is a definite no-no."
"Good." Catharine turned away from Edmund, facing the wall so that he could not see the satisfied, almost cruel smile that transfixed her face. It was a beautiful thought that soon Valen Cruelsword would be at the mercy of the Aquilians – or rather, Catharine Richmond.
Edmund may not have been able to see the smile, but he knew it was there, and for the first time he began to doubt that Catharine was a true Messenger. The Messengers had never been governed by their own feelings; they had always been exempt from other creatures' passions, such as love, and revenge. Theirs, as a well-known author had said, was a high and lonely destiny. But oddly enough, Edmund loved his friend for all her faults, rather than for her virtues – excepting the aloofness that was so naturally a part of her.
He left the tent and went down to the lakeside to think it through.
Catharine herself pulled her cloak around her and slipped in amongst the soldiers. She started with a group of four around some glowing embers. Stoking up the fire until it was a hot blaze, more and more came to sit around, till some three score Aquilians were crouched nearby.
"What do you think of all this?" she asked a nearby squirrel, who grimaced.
"It's Aquile, mate. Personally, I don't much care who's on the throne. So long as they don't try and take away our freedom. I mean, we're all the same, aren't we? They're fighting for their country, us for ours. But deep down, well…"
"The people don't wish for war, they are driven to it by the madness of kings," said a snobbish swordshare.
"Up shut!" ordered someone. "The good ol' mousey wants to say somethin'."
"One creature's villain is another's hero," said Catharine cynically. "I expect that ferret is popular with his subjects."
An old otter shook his head. "He's not. I was in a Pargiter prison once. I was in a cell with a young Aquilian mouse and a Pargit weasel. I asked them what they'd done. The young'un was bitter and unhappy. He cried out that his family had all been murdered except for his sister, and the ferret separated him from her – and then he fell to his knees and cried his poor little heart out. I knelt and tried to comfort him, but the weasel simply looked at him and said: 'Do not look to escape from here. You would never have done it, even with your family beside you. For the Pargiters are bound to their king with a terrible bondage which none can understand. I broke free, and am here for my pains. My life is over, but I warn you, my friend, that no matter how far you are pushed, drive yourself insane, die before you take the oath that will bind you to Pargit. For if you do, you will surely never be able to have free will. And you know this as well as I do, my child, freedom is the most wonderful thing in this world.' ''
The otter paused, and looked around. "The weasel died two hours later, at the break of dawn. As for the child, I do not know. But I can feel that he took those words to heart, that he has never taken the oath of allegiance. I know it as surely as that my own end is near."
There were protests at this, and Catharine slipped quietly away. She joined a group of voles.
"I think this war is stupid," complained one. "For a start, we're going to lose, and I don't fancy dying either in battle, or because I supported the resistance against the ferret. One king's as good as another to me."
"You can't know that we'll lose," said Catharine quietly.
"I just know. I don't care what that midgety mousemaid and her bodyguard say, we'll be massacred. I'm leaving tonight."
There were murmurs of assent, but Catharine's face was impassive. Then she spoke, and the word came with such terrifying menace that the voles froze in shock.
"Cowards!"
"We're not," protested the biggest vole in a whining voice. "You don't understand."
"All I understand is that you apparently don't have the backbone to stand up and fight to protect the ones you love. I speak of courage, gentlemen. Does courage mean so little to you? If it does, then go – go now! I never want to look upon your faces again! Aquile is shamed by such as you!"
Catharine turned on her heel and walked away, but as she did so, the hood of her cloak fell, revealing her face in the flickering firelight.
"It's her…" whispered one of the voles.
"Yes, it is I. And I meant what I said. Go now, while you still have a chance to live. If you stay a moment longer, you will not see dawn break."
Five of the voles went, only the one who had spoken stayed behind.
"I hope I shall have the pleasure of seeing you on the scaffold, mousemaid!" he spat.
"You will not," returned Catharine repressively. "For, as I said, you will not even see dawn break tomorrow morning."
Something in her tone frightened the vole, and he went. But not far. He was found the next morning, floating in the lake – drowned. He had died just moments before dawn broke.
*
It was a strange dream. Faces floated before her, some she knew, many she did not. Louisa. Edmund. Soneir. Giles. Her other siblings. Her parents. Creatures whom she did not recognise. A mousemaid twirling a knotted rope. A mouse of the same age with a sword, which disappeared and was replaced by a dagger. That sword seemed to be carried by many. A squirrel with a bow and arrow, a molemaid with him. Two mighty badgers side by side. One was white, with no markings. Another badger behind them, with a great sword. Three hares behind him, two male, one female. Three more badgers stood together. Two swords and a massive club were their respective weapons. A kestrel flew round the head of the third, whose yellow stripe marked him as slightly different. A haremaid, shaking an old harecordion. A mouse somewhere in his middle seasons, with dark eyes and a wise face. A black squirrel. Another squirrel, this time carrying a javelin. A cheeky-faced mouse, who seemed rather out of place amongst the others, except for the aforementioned haremaid. Another mouse, carrying a wooden staff. A sea otter with twin daggers, ready to pounce. Another otter came up behind him, with a sling twirling. He was badly scarred, and had a determined countenance, almost obsessive. Suddenly she felt she was being pushed into the future. More creatures appeared. Three mice, father, son and grandson, perhaps. They carried a sword, the same sword as the mouse with the mousemaid with the rope had carried. A massive badger, carrying an axe, and his daughter, who looked peaceful and motherly. A female otter with a bow and green-fletched arrows, looking hell-bent on revenge. A young hare carrying a dirk, and an old female squirrel showing him how to throw it. A female badger stalked in front of them, her eyes scarlet with Bloodwrath. A squirrel, carrying the sword again. Two squirrels, a shrew, and a watervole stood in a group, one with a green stick, the other with that strange sword, the shrew with his customary rapier, the vole did not seem to have a weapon. Then an otter with a four-petal mark on his paw, carrying a beautiful dagger. Finally, a mouse in full armour appeared, and he superseded every other creature. He had the sword, and he looked everything a warrior should. He spoke.
"When danger comes, trust only the archer. Others will lead you to death. When all you can do is done, listen to his judgement."
*
Catharine stirred uneasily. She could trust Edmund, that much was evident.
Suddenly she woke to the fact that she could hear no sound. Even Edmund seemed to be as silent as the grave.
She opened her eyes. No one was there. Horrified, she quickly dressed herself in her battle armour, and ran, at full speed, towards the dust cloud that was the army heading out from the camp. As she neared them, she saw that they had begun the attack.
Hissing with rage, she glared at Edmund before taking a run up and leaping the ditch into the Pargit camp. The palisade wall gave way as soon as she had done so, and the Aquilians piled in. They fought like mad things, and won the day. Catharine collapsed from exhaustion as soon as Edmund informed her that the camp was certainly destroyed.
"Tomorrow," he said, "we take on Prent."
"All right."
All right? Was that all she could say? Catharine was amazed at herself. Edmund was possibly the best friend she'd ever have, and she could barely be polite to him. Perhaps it was her upbringing. The Richmond way was to know how to get away with things, and stick by the other members of the family if you didn't. The rest of 'that rubbish', manners and so on, simply didn't matter. Rules, said the Richmonds, were made to be broken, just because they were made. But only break the rules if you have to. It's easier to get away with it if you don't.
Edmund seemed to understand, though. He made a rude sign towards the south, where Prent lay, which made Catharine laugh. Peace of mind was restored to the young warriors, and they went off arm in arm.
*
"Follow me! For king and country…for me…follow me!"
The hysterical warcry rang out over the silent army. Then a great roar arose from the waiting soldiers.
"Follow you! For king and country…follow you!"
Catharine folded her arms and smiled. The Aquilians were working themselves up into a bloodlust. It was destroy all from now on. The most efficient way of conducting a battle…so long as they won, of course.
Eight thousand archers drew their bows. They shot off a storm of arrows. Three thousand swordsbeasts marched forwards and began to scale the walls. Boiling oil poured down upon the leaders. Some were hacked to death as they reached the battlements. Axebeasts whacked and battered at the great door with their weapons.
"It'll be messy," said someone.
"There is no honourable way to kill, no gentle way to destroy; there is nothing good in war except it's ending," replied Edmund. The squirrel stared at him, obviously wondering about the archer's sanity, then walked away. It was almost with relief that Edmund saw a large boulder roll out of a murder hole and crush the squirrel. Not that it upset him, but if that little comment got back to his superiors, namely Catharine, it could be a bit awkward for a mouse…
*
The battle was going badly for the Aquilians. The wall climbers were being picked off one by one by creatures at the top – and horrible, cruel, ugly creatures they were too, Catharine thought furiously. The attacking forces were gradually losing courage, and Edmund had reported that the archers were running out of arrows. There was nothing else for it.
"Follow me!" she screamed, and hurled her way towards the ladders.
Edmund saw her, and was horrified. "Catharine, no!" he cried, trying to grab her arm. She twisted away from him and swung herself up the ladders.
And from a perfect viewpoint, a Pargit archer watched, waxing his bowstring and sharpening his best arrows. It was a chance of a lifetime.
*
Catharine reached the top of the walls. It was some fifty feet high, and she was about to scramble over the final stones when…
…Time slowed down.
She looked into the eyes of a hare that had been about to cut her down.
"You won't need that," she told him, swaying a little. Her voice was strange, alien to her. It was if she was speaking from a great distance. The roar of battle was dulled in her ears; she felt a pain in her chest…
…And she toppled off the ladder.
*
Edmund had seen the archer shoot off his arrow and thought what a fool he was, practically sitting back to watch the results. He was also conscious of a great hatred, a blinding need for vengeance. Without even thinking, he aimed and shot and killed.
*
Catharine was on a stretcher, face pale, eyes burning feverishly.
"Edmund…promise me…promise me you'll continue the battle. You must…"
Edmund nodded fervently.
"Promise me!" commanded Catharine.
"I promise."
"Thank…you…"
She fell back into a faint, and Edmund took a few steps away from her. The doctor followed him.
"Well?" queried Edmund.
"The arrow is buried deep inside her, it will need to be extracted if she is to live. However, to extract it will quite possibly kill her. While it remains in there, it stops the flow of blood, and to remove it would mean that the blood loss would be – considerable, to say the least. However, infection will certainly set in if we leave it in there."
Edmund regarded the doctor with a certain amount of disgust. "Just say it, doctor."
"The arrow was poisoned."
*
It was extracted, of course, but none expected her to live. Only Edmund entertained the delusion that Aquile would win without Catharine's leadership – or rather, that Catharine would recover.
Meanwhile, Catharine was ill. She saw strange visions. She saw her family being murdered, she could hear Cadoc's screams as he was stretched on the rack, Frederick's cries as the pawscrews were screwed tighter, the muffled, choking gasps of Dorothea and Magdalen, the sobs of Giles as he was dragged away, out of the fortress, perhaps never to be seen again. She could hear Rodrigo's angry, bitter voice commanding Dorothea to fight for her life, there was the cold, clear voice of Agnese speaking to the witnesses of her execution.
Then a voice singing.
"Pilgrim how you wander,
On the road you chose
To find out why the wind dies
And where the stories go."
"Mother…" she whispered.
She could feel someone standing over her, calling her name. It was dark now; she felt a cool breeze waft over her face. She wanted to go to the creatures standing behind the gates of Dark Forest, Agnese, Rodrigo, Frederick, Cadoc, Magdalen, Dorothea, and her parents…
"Giles," she murmured. "Where are you? You should be here. My brother."
She tried to move towards the gates, to unlock them, but someone was dragging her away. She struggled and struggled, but could not escape from their grasp. She could hear voices again, but these sounded real – and it was only one, after all.
"Catharine, come back. Live. Live for me, and Aquile. Please, Catharine."
So Catharine did.
*
Edmund saw the creased brow relax, the burning eyes cool, the sweat didn't make a waterfall over her forehead any more. The fear that had gripped him for a night had softened and let go. He left the bedside and went to find an empty spot on the ground to rest his weary body.
*
Catharine woke at about daybreak. The sky was still grey and misty, but she wandered through the camp, looking about her at the sleeping bodies of her army. She glanced up at the castle. They had lost the battle, that was clear enough.
"You've been beaten!" cried a voice from the fortress. Her head snapped up, listening and watching the wildcat standing on the battlements.
"You've lost! Your little princess was killed yesterday. That virago of a mousemaid is dead! You've been beaten!"
Catharine broke out into a run. She leapt over corpses and sleepers, ignoring the results of stepping on one of the latter accidentally.
"You've been beaten!" reiterated the Pargiter.
"But not defeated!" she howled back up at him.
The wildcat stepped back in horror. Fear showed in every crack and line in his face. The Aquilian virago really was a demon, in the service of evil. She must have some connection with Lord Vulpuz.
And as for Catharine, she was exultant. She could see the fear in the Pargiter's face, and she revelled in it. The overwhelming passion of her life was the avenging of her family, she believed, the clannish loyalty of the Richmonds had all come down into the one person, Catharine, and that meant she knew, or thought she knew, that her life was dedicated to vengeance. She threw back her head and laughed. And laughed. In every vibration of the sound there was a happiness that was almost frightening in it's madness.
Edmund, the sleeper whom she had trodden on, even shivered, afraid suddenly for his friend. The doctor had said the insane streak in Catharine might affect her recovery. Edmund had refused to believe that she was in the least bit crazy. He knew her better than the doctors. Now, he was not so sure. But there was persistence in Edmund's nature, and his heart would not listen to his head. He could not believe that Catharine was mad. He couldn't accept that verdict.
Well, at least she had recovered.
*
The battle was over. Valen Cruelsword had escaped somehow, Catharine was bitterly disappointed, but said nothing.
News came from the capital. As Edmund read it, he blanched and tried to throw the letter away carelessly, but Catharine noticed his demeanour, and inquired what was wrong.
Edmund could barely choke out the words. But one look was all his friend needed.
Soneir was dead.
