Peter’s Diary part 14: The Battle of Vine Street

In The Doom that Came to Amber

2^nd Snake 3658

A turbulent night, as the weight of responsibility hung around my shoulders. I am now Sheriff of the City of Amber, with the task of restoring order to this tumultuous place. When I went to sleep, I at least thought I had the City militias on my side to aid in this task, but on waking, I find that I am to supply the bastions of law and order from my generous estates within Amber.

I went to breakfast somewhat perplexed, and the news that greeted me there was, in a perverse way, welcome.

The Princess Bathsheba, Prince Julian, Lord Asmark and myself were the only ones present when the news came of riots within the City. As the Office of the Sheriff could do little at this time, I offered my services to Bathsheba in quelling the riots. It seemed that many of the worshippers of the Unicorn, enflamed by certain priests, were attacking anything that even tasted of Miran worship – being dressed too well, being somewhat sensitive or arty, all of these were suddenly crimes within the City of Amber – crimes that the mob was only too happy to punish.

We acted swiftly. Giving me a letter of identification, Bathsheba set about planning the campaign. Noting that we lacked intelligence as to the state of the city, I volunteered to take a small detachment of guard to find out what we may. Passing me a Trump of herself, Bathsheba assented. As I prepared, she contacted Prince Morwaith and ordered him to quell the fundamentalists.

Taking five of the halberdiers from the Eastern watch, I headed down Vine Street into the city. About half way down, I met with one Lord Henge, one of the nobles who live there. He and his entourage were heading towards the castle, but stopped while I spoke with him. After ascertaining my credentials, and speaking to Bathsheba through her Trump, he warned me of the mood within the city and took the five halberdiers back with him as I would not put their lives at risk in what I was about to do.

Apropos of nothing, the next horse that appears in a story I tell should be decked in Lord Henge’s colours. Or at least the next horse’s arse.

He took a message to Bathsheba of support from those who would have supported her father before – a sizable force.

I made my way into the city, pausing only to doff my fine clothing and change into the attire of a docker; far more suitable for the task at hand than the red velvets and moleskin breeches that I was wearing. Wrapping my sword in rags and hiding Titania’s gift beneath the shirt, I made my way to the Cathedral and clambered onto a rooftop, the better to see what was occurring.

The square in front of the Cathedral was the worst imitation of a Saturnalia. Truly, they could have done with the help of the Dark Court to organise their chaos better. There was neither rhyme, reason nor rhythm to their celebrations; their dances were bloody and static, their songs cacophonic. Their sacrifices were clumsy, random and half hearted. Even their fanatics were half hearted, with one exception. He had the fire within him that would set cities aflame, and the voice to demand that others immolate also. Him I marked, as a hunter marks their prey.

The news of what I could see was passed back to Bathsheba, and we discussed whether this pretty picture could carry troops from thither to hither. She declared she did not have the strength for it, but would talk to the Regent to see if he might aid. ‘Twas at about that point the mob gained purpose and, lead by the fiery priest, headed for the Castle. Noting this, the princess extended her hand and, like a gracious courtier, I was ushered into her presence.

Taking 3 score of crossbowmen and the strongest longbows I could find, we set to defend Vine Street. It was here I saw the dance floor upon which the Princess is best suited. The staccato signals she sends in Court translate into clear concise commands. Her overly confrontational gaze becomes far sightedness and her forceful presence becomes the steady centre around which an army would stand forever.

I do not think I will ever love this Princess, but I am damn sure that I respect her.

The battle was hard, both upon us and upon the city. Though we had the advantage of height and training, the mob outnumbered us fifteen to one. Seeing this, Bathsheba set up a chicane of shields to deflect and slow the mob, allowing the cavalry space to charge, wheel and retreat without being bogged down. My own troops picked their targets, firing from the roofs of the houses of the nobility to cause quarrels between neighbours.

And I? I taught the scions of Amber how well Faerie teaches use of the bow. The fiery priest fell to the Faerie shaft, as did a full two-score of his followers. Not one arrow missed, though the rains had appeared out of a crystal clear sky and the luck of the Fae was with the foe. Bowstrings snapped as if they were made of grass, soldiers slipped and fell, walking in a straight line. The edge of the road crumbled and a dozen warriors plummeted. But still we fought on.

When all quarrels were lost and all shafts in flight, we descended to the street to aid where we may. Bathsheba passed half of her force to me, that we might duet in this dance of destruction, and I took up the baton willingly. With the ebb and flow of the crowd, we start to advance – a few steps here, a few steps there. We waltz with the cavalry, the beat of their hooves the drum which shapes the revels. Khitan summons sorcery and the crowd slumbers, allowing us to move forward even further. A rock flies and I do not duck in time, but the pain is ignored as we fight on and down. By the darkest part of the night, the mob is broken, the street is ours and we may regroup.

Troops from the Castle come to relieve us, and Bathsheba returns to the Regent to report. She shows no concerns over leaving me in charge, and in truth, she should have none. I have learnt this night to respect the yeomen of Amber, and they in their turn, perhaps, to respect me.

When dawn breaks with no further incident, Bathsheba returns and I break my fast before sleeping. Khitan, Asmark and Aylwin are at breakfast, and they discuss matters religious, but that concerns me not.

I am a bard, a storyteller, a weaver of magics. But this night, because the blood demands it, I have been a soldier, and a leader of soldiers. The wheres and whys and whofors are not my concern this day. Simply this. We stood, we fought, we won. No soldier can ask for more than waking the morning after the battle.

We stood, we fought, we won!