The two kings sat shoulder to shoulder at the picnic table, across from the autocrat. William had pushed his heavy brass crown to the back of his fair head; he was a big man, uncomfortable in the early September heat. He glanced at Oswin, a skinny dark man in a bright orange tunic, who wore his copper circlet more properly around his forehead.

The autocrat, a very slender young lady in pale green, said, "First, there's a problem with Archer's Field." Her voice was hard and brittle, as if the effort of keeping this vast gathering under control had begun with herself.

King William sipped from his can of Bud. "I hope they got us some new bales of straw. The old ones had grass growing out of them." He slapped impatiently at a mosquito trying to bite him through the tight sleeve of his purple tunic.

"Oh, yes, they've replaced the bales. The problem is, it's only Wednesday and there are nine hundred here already. At this rate we'll have over five thousand in camp by the weekend. And the only way to make room for that many is to let some camp on Archer's Field. I talked with the owners, and they say the archers can use their cornfield across the road. The corn's already been cut. The field isn't pretty, but it's certainly big enough."

King Oswin asked, "Is it okay for the crossbows? Mine is pretty powerful; if a bolt misses, there's no telling how far it will travel. What's on the other side of the field?"

"Miller's Brook and some trees to the north. To the west-"

King William interrupted. "We won't be shooting to the west. You set the archery competition for four, which means it probably won't start until five, and that means by the end, the sun will be well down. You can't hit a target if the sun's in your eyes." He took another drink of his beer.

The autocrat made a note on her clipboard with a hand that had already developed a fine tremor. "Thank you, Your Majesty," she said.

Poor lady, William thought. Didn't realize what a logistic problem the War was. He'd fielded a steady stream of complaints all day. The Porta-John people had delivered only half the needed additional units. The water spigot in the Mongol camp wasn't working. The two chief judges of the Arts and Sciences competition had already had three major quarrels over criteria. Thank God he was only King; he could wave a hand and say, "See the autocrat." The autocrat, Mistress Radegund d'Portiers, looked about ready to shatter into tears. And it's only Wednesday. Poor lady.

She asked, "I take it you both agree to move the archery competition to the cornfield?"

William nodded and said, "Looks like we have to."

Oswin said mildly, "Corn stalks are no fun to trip over, and, if it rains, they'll whine about the mud."

"What's the forecast?" asked William.

"Scattered showers," the autocrat said humbly.

"Surprise," he said with a sarcastic grin, lifting his drink.

"Aw, it always rains at Pennsic," said Oswin. "Go ahead and use the cornfield, my lady, since they were nice enough to offer it to us. No extra charge, I hope?"

"No, Your Majesty." She made a note and turned a page over the back of the clipboard.

William asked, "Has the Khan arrived yet?" He wanted to talk to him. The Great Dark Horde comprised the biggest subgroup in the Known World; they included Vikings, Mongols, Huns, Visigoths, and undifferentiated mercenaries. They lived in all the kingdoms, called none home. Each year their Khan negotiated with the two War Kings, accepting trinket gifts, negotiating overt and secret bribes, and attending a feast or other ceremony designed to please and impress him, before deciding on which side his warriors would fight. It was shtick but serious shtick: his fighters were skilled and numerous enough to affect the outcome.

"I understand he'll arrive later today," Radegund said. "There are nearly seventy-five Hordesmen here already. Which reminds me-" She consulted her clipboard. "What are we going to do about Thorstane Shieldbreaker?"

William asked sharply, "He's here?"

"Yes, Your Majesty, he arrived an hour ago."

William felt his face grow red. "You sure?"

"I saw him myself, at the gate, paying his fee."

"I thought the Khan was going to make him stay home this year!"

The autocrat said, "The Khan is not a king, Your Majesty; he can only suggest that his brothers do what he wants."

"God dammit, if I'd known Thorstane was coming, I'd've told the gate to turn him away! He still hasn't satisfied me about that incident at the Crestfallen Tournament!"

"What happened?" Oswin asked. Oswin was King of the East; Thorstane lived in the Middle Kingdom and was William's problem. But Oswin had undoubtedly heard the rumors, and on this battlefield, East met Middle. Like William, Oswin wanted a nice, safe, friendly War.

William said, "The story is, he hit Olaf Stiklesland from behind in the melee."

"Isn't Olaf a Horde brother, too?"

"Yeah, but I don't think Thorstane was paying any attention to who he was hitting. He said afterwards Olaf knew he was swinging, but no witness will back him. He's done stuff like that before, you know; remember Pennsic Twelve? I say, if the bastard won't obey the rules, he don't play the game!"

Oswin suggested, "How about we scare up a few of our guys and heave him out?"

"Hell, he's in the Horde camp now; you want to go walking in there and lay hands on a brother? They must be as mad at him as I am, but he's one of their own, and they won't let a kingdomer touch him. We'd have the whole household down on our necks!" William rubbed his face with a pink hand. There was a time when he'd have done as Oswin suggested, and damn the consequences. But that was when he was young and hotheaded, when his roar of laughter had less of a forced quality to it. He was going to be forty next month, too old for impulsive imperiousness. This was going to be his last reign, and he had decided to exit in a somewhat dignified manner.

He sighed. "There could be some problems if we don't think of something. He's no idea of what it means to behave decently, much less chivalrously. Hell, I wish King Basil had gone ahead and called a Court of Chivalry on him; we could've tossed him out of the Society a year ago."

"If he's that dangerous, maybe the Horde will do something themselves," said Oswin.

"I've asked to be told the second Wulfstan arrives," offered Radegund.

"Let me know what he says," ordered William. Wulfstan was the newly-elected Khan, and reputedly a cool head. William eyed the clipboard. "What's next?"

The autocrat turned another page. "As you know, there will again be two inns on site this year, the Fat Cat and the Couple Dragons." The inns were sponsored in part by the respective kingdoms; the emblem of the East was a tiger and the emblem of the Middle a dragon. It was thought when they started seven Wars ago they'd be rivals, but it quickly developed that hungry people went to the Cat and thirsty people went to the Dragons. "This county voted itself dry last November," Radegund said. "The Couple Dragons sells ale."

"No, they don't," said William. "Well, not exactly." He grinned. "Now, I admit, their imported well water has an unusual taste, just like homemade brown ale, in fact. It may well be that the water is treated some way, maybe by adding yeast and flavorings before it's bottled. After all, it is legal to bring alcoholic beverages into the county."

"But it's not legal to sell them," said Radegund.

"And they don't. They sell souvenir tickets for a quarter. If you find you bought more tickets than you meant to, they allow you to exchange them for sandwiches and beverages, including 'well water.' But they don't sell anything except the tickets. It's legal; I know a church back home does the same thing so they don't have to buy a liquor license."

Oswin nodded. "Me, too. I checked with the owners, they said they didn't mind the Couple Dragons' setup. This is a private party, remember; no mundanes allowed."

William grinned and the autocrat sighed. She crossed something off on her clipboard and folded back another sheet.

"I'm not a fighter," she said, "so may I leave the organization of the Battles to Your Majesties and your Earl Marshals? I've set the order; Woods and Bridge Battles on Saturday, Field and Champions Battles on Sunday."

"Thanks, my lady, we'd enjoy taking all that off your shoulders," said William sincerely. Non-fighters could definitely mess up the organization of fighting.

"I'll second that," said Oswin. "Want us to run the archery competition as well?"

"I'll direct the members of the Royal Archers Guilds to arrange a meeting with you. All right?"

"Swell," said Oswin.

"Wonderful," said William, taking a final deep drink of his beer. He crushed the can with one hand. "Now what?"

"That's all I have, for now," the autocrat said. "Oh, wait. I recommend you order all participants in the Woods Battle to wear boots. Sir John de Capestrano was scouting around in there this morning and almost stepped on a copperhead. He says he saw two more on his way out, and he was in a hurry."

"Holy cow!" said Oswin.

"Holy shit!" said William.

Radegund rose and so did the Kings. "If you will excuse me," she said, "I have another meeting to go to, with the chirurgeons, who don't like where I've stationed their first-aid tent. I thank you for your patience with me." She curtsied deeply, and they bowed their heads at her. She turned and marched out into the bright sunlight, her long hair in a single straight braid down her narrow spine.

"Poor kid," said Oswin.

"Yeah, I think she thought autocrating the War would be like doing an extra-big tournament. Listen, I got more beer in my tent. Want one?"

It was eleven o'clock in the morning, but Oswin said, "Sure. How's your queen taking things so far?" Just before the last Midrealm Crown Tournament, William had, as customary, asked his then girlfriend to be his Queen if he won the Crown. But being Queen involved real work, and the lady declined. So William's Queen this reign was a young newcomer. There had been doubts about her ability to face up to the challenges and politics of the position, but the lady had proved sturdier than anyone expected. William, still miffed at his former lady, had also discovered that this new Queen, while awed by his Majesty, could not be seduced by him. Everyone was amused by this, even, after awhile, William.

"She's all right, if you don't mind the mess."

Oswin hid a grin behind a thin hand. He'd already paid a courtesy call at the Middle's Royal Pavilion, and the mess he'd seen consisted of William's armor, William's tabard, William's favorite Oreo cookies, William's mantle, and the Royal Greatsword. "Takes awhile to break them in," he said politely, and the two, who would be mortal enemies after Opening Court Friday morning, walked off together.

The Khan arrived very late that afternoon, and agreed to speak with the autocrat, if she could talk to him while he and his wife and two daughters set up their tent.

The Horde encampment was the biggest single encampment at the War, and was marked off with a canvas fence. Inside, members in their colorful, comfortable and not always historically accurate costumes were setting up tents, gossiping or sorting out armor. All wore somewhere on their person the braided black and red cord that was the household badge.

Mistress Radegund found Wulfstan the Fearless of Iceland setting up his tent in a central place within the Horde enclosure. It was an authentic Viking tent, a broad inverted V of black and red canvas. He greeted her politely, but did not stop work. "I think that pole needs to be set closer," he said to his elder daughter. "You were saying, my lady?"

"Thorstane is here after all," said Radegund, "and King William is not pleased. He was sure you'd persuade him to stay away."

"I tried, Mistress," he said. He was a short man of medium build and great dignity, even in plaid flannel shirt and painters pants. His thick hair was iron gray and his bandit's mustache grew down even with his jawline. "Marta, please help your sister with that pole." His tone was gentle, but the younger girl immediately set down the kindling she'd been collecting and went to help her sister.

"Lord Wulfstan, I'm sorry, but I do wish you had let me or His Majesty know Thorstane was not going to listen to you. There is great concern about his behavior, especially during fighting."

"My brothers and I will speak to him about his behavior," he said, tugging experimentally at the canvas. "Got it on that side?" he called to his wife, invisible behind the rising tent.

"Yes, love!" she called back.

"Perhaps you should know that His Majesty is of the opinion that Thorstane should be thrown out of the Society."

Wulfstan said coolly, "Until that happens, he is permitted to take part in all SCA events, including the War." He began to pound in a tent peg.

Radegund said, "Please, my lord, try to understand my difficulty. Thorstane is perceived by many people, including myself, as a menace. The owners of Miller's Pond rent us this site year after year because we're relatively neat and well-behaved. Beyond the legal ramifications, if Thorstane hurts someone, we may lose our War site. People will remember it was a Horde brother who was responsible."

Wulfstan stopped pounding. "You speak well, m'lady, and I respect your feelings. But you and His Majesty can leave this matter to the brothers." His voice turned hard. "And, never fear, we will handle it."

Satisfied, she thanked him and left the camp.

Wulfstan finished setting up the tent, then changed into a brown knee-length tunic with three narrow bands of yellow ribbon around the skirt. He saw to it there was enough firewood to cook supper, tucked his good knife with the antler handle into his belt, and went to find Thorstane's tent.

From the voices, there were two men in the tent. They were laughing over a salacious and probably untrue story of a revel held after a recent event in Strange Sea-Cleveland, on the shore of Lake Erie. Wulfstan listened only long enough to identify the voices, then touched the cluster of brass bells outside the entrance.

"Who is it?" called a drunken voice.

"Wulfstan. Is Lord Thorstane within?"

"I'm here, Wulffy; whatcha want?" growled Thorstane.

"I'd like to speak with you for a few minutes," said Wulfstan.

"Sure, come in," said Thorstane.

The Khan pulled aside the entrance flap and stooped to enter the grubby orange tent. The other man was about to leave. He nodded to Wulfstan and said to Thorstane, "Come over to my tent tonight, it's more than my turn to buy." He departed, giving the Khan a speculative glance. Thorstane was seated cross-legged on an Indian blanket. He was a big man with long, tangled dark hair and wearing his distorted idea of Viking garb: vest and diaper of brown fake fur, with his braided Horde cord as a headband. He had a shaggy beard; there were suds in it. He put down his beer, lifted the lid on a blue ice chest and said, "Want a brew?"

"Not right now, thanks," Wulfstan said. "Thorstane, I need to have a serious talk with you."

Thorstane rummaged noisily amid melting ice cubes and came up with a can of beer-an imported brand, Wulfstan noted.

"I don't know if I got time to listen," Thorstane said sullenly, pulling the tab.

Wulfstan seated himself on the dirty blanket. "I thought you weren't coming to Pennsic," he said.

"Aw, hell, Wulffy, you know how much fun the War is! And I ain't been anywhere away from home all year! How could I pass up a chance to come?"

"Lady Freyis spoke to you, didn't she?"

Thorstane ducked his shaggy head. "Yeah." Lady Freyis was Thorstane's Tar-Khan, head of a Horde district that included Thorstane's barony of Strange Sea, and noted for her sharp tongue.

"And I spoke to you as well. Perhaps we didn't make clear to you the trouble you are in, and the need for you to lay off your offensive behavior, at least until things cool down. Frankly, I'm surprised you weren't summoned before a Court of Chivalry after Crestfallen."

"But Olaf's not mad at me any more! You seen him just now, off to buy us some beer! He's willin' to let bygones be bygones. He came to me at Dragon's Day and said so. So the King can go suck a toad for all I care!"

"I want you to pack your gear and go home, Thorstane."

"I can't do that!"

"Why not?"

"For one thing, I don't have to. For another, I hitched a ride here with some Kingdomers, and they're how I'm getting home, too."

"But I told William you weren't coming, and your showing up diminishes me before him. There's a bus station in Slippery Rock. I'll give you a ride."

"You gonna buy my ticket, too? I don't have but seven dollars on me. Look, I really want to be at the War. I got lots of friends here I don't see nowhere else. I'll behave, I promise."

Wulfstan studied the barbarian, who was looking very earnest. It would strain his pocketbook to have to buy a bus ticket for Thorstane-and there was no guarantee the man wouldn't get off the bus at its first stop, cash in the remainder of his ticket, and turn up back here. "On your honor as a sword brother?"

Thorstane drew a big X on his hairy chest. "I swear."

Wulfstan nodded. "Okay. I want you to go light on the booze, and stay away from the kingdomers. And if one brother-man or woman-comes to me with a complaint about you, you'll wish you'd stayed home. Do you hear me? Consider yourself on probation and under watch at all times."

Thorstane nodded solemnly. "I hear you."

© 1987, 2001 by Mary Monica Pulver. All rights reserved.