Tripods 1 -- The White Mountains -- John Christopher -- (1967)

1 -- Capping Day

Apart from the one in the church tower, there
were five clocks in the village that kept reasonable time. and my father owned one of them. It
stood on the mantelpiece in the parlor, and every
night before he went to bed he took the key
from a vase and wound it up. Once a year the
dockman came from Winchester, on an old jogging packhorse, to clean and oil it and put it
light Afterward he would drink camomile tea
with my mother and tell her the news of the city
and what he had heard in the villages through
which he had passed. My father, if he was not
busy nulling, would stalk out at this time with
some contemptuous remark about gossip; but
later, in the evening, I would hear my mother
passing the stories on to him. He did not show
much enthusiasm, but he listened to them.

My father's great treasure, though, was not
the dock. but the Watch. This, a miniature clock
with a dial less than an inch across and a circlet
permitting it to be worn on the wrist, was kept
in a locked drawer of his desk and only brought
out to be worn on ceremonial occasions, such as
Harvest Festival or a Capping. The clockman
was allowed to see to it only every third year,
and at such times my father stood by, watching
him as he worked. There was no other Watch in
the village, nor in any of the villages round
about The clockman said there were a number
in Winchester, but none as fine as this. I wondered if he said it to please my father, who certainly showed pleasure in the hearing, but I believe it truly was of very good workmanship.
The body of the Watch was of a steel much
superior to anything they could make at ttu
forge in Alton, and the works inside were ft
wonder of intricacy and skill. On the front were
printed "Anti-magnetique" and "Incabloc," which
we supposed to have been die name of the
craftsman who made it in olden times.

The clockman had visited us the week before,
and I had been permitted to look on for a time
while he cleaned and oiled the Watch. The sight
fascinated me, and after he had gone I found
my thoughts running continually on this treasure.
now locked away again in its drawer. I was, of
course, forbidden to touch my father's desk, and
the notion of opening a locked drawer in it
should have been unthinkable. Nonetheless, the
idea persisted. And after a day or two I admitted
to myself that it was only the fear of being
caught that prevented me.

On Saturday morning I found myself alone in
the house. My father was in the mill room, grinding, and the servants—even Molly who normally
did not leave the house during the day—had
been brought in to help. My mother was out
visiting old Mrs. Ash, who was sick, and would
be gone an hour at least I had finished my
homework and there was nothing to stop my
going out into the bright May morning and finding Jack. But what completely filled my mind
was the thought that I had this opportunity to
look at the Watch with small chance of detection.

The key, I had observed, was kept with the
other keys in a small box beside my father's bed.
There were four, and the third one opened the
drawer. I took out the Watch, and gazed at it
It was not going, but I knew one wound it and
set the hands by means of the small knob at one
side. If I were to wind it only a couple of turns,
it would run down quite soon—just in case my
father decided to look at it later in the day. I did
this, and listened to its quiet rhythmic ticking.
Then I set the hands by the clock. After that it
only remained for me to slip it on my wrist
Even notched to the first hole, the leather strap
was loose; but I was wearing the Watch,

Having achieved what I had thought was an
ultimate ambition, I found, as I think is often
the case, that there remained something more.
To wear it was a triumph, but to be seen wearing it ... I had told my cousin. Jack Leeper,
that I would meet him that morning in the old
ruins at the end of the village. Jack, who was
nearly a year older than myself and due to bo
presented at the next Capping, was the person,
next to my parents, whom I most admired. To
take the Watch out of the house was to add
enormity to disobedience, but having already
gone so far. it was easier to contemplate it My
mind made up, I was determined to waste none of
the precious time I had. I opened the front door,
stuck the hand with the Watch deep into my
trouser pocket, and ran off down the street

The village lay at a crossroads, with the road
in which our house stood running alongside the
river (this giving power for the mill, of course)
and the second road crossing it at the ford.
Beside the ford stood a small wooden bridge for
foot travelers, and I pelted across, noticing that
the river was higher than usual from the spring
rains. My Aunt Lucy was approaching the bridge
as I left it at the far end. She called a greeting
to me, and I called back, having first taken care
to veer to the other side of the road. The baker's
shop was there, with trays of buns and cakes set
out, and it was reasonable that I should be
heading that way: I had a couple of pennies in
my pocket But I ran on past it, and did not
slacken to a walk until I had reached the point
where the houses thinned out and at last ended.

The ruins were a hundred yards farther on.
On one side of the road lay Spillers' meadow,
with cows grazing, but on my side Acre was a
thorn hedge, and a potato field beyond. I passed
a gap in the hedge, not looking in my concentration on what I was going to show Jack, and
was startled a moment later by a shout from
behind me. I recognized the voice as Henry
Parker's.

Henry, like Jack, was a cousin of mine—my
name is Will Parker—but. unlike Jack, no friend.
(I had several cousins in Ac village; people did
not usually travel far to marry.) He was a
month younger than I, but taller and heavier,
and we had hated each other as long as I could
remember. When it came to fighting, as it very
often did, I was outmatched physically and had
to rely on agility and quickness if I were not going to be beaten over and over again. From Jack
I had learned some skill in wrestling which, in
the past year, had enabled me to hold my own
more, and in our last encounter I had thrown
him heavily enough to wind him and leave him
gasping for breath. But for wrestling one needed
the use of both hands. I thrust my left hand
deeper into the pocket and. not answering his
call. ran on toward the ruins.

He was doser than I had thought, though, and
he pounded after me. yelling threats. I put a
spurt on, looked back to see how much of a
lead I had, and found myself slipping on a patch
of mud. (Cobbles were laid inside the village,
but out here the road was in its usual poor condition. aggravated by the rains.) I fought desperately to keep my footing, but would not, until
it was too late, bring out my other hand to help
balance myself. As a result, I went slithering and
sprawling and finally fell. Before I could recover,
Henry was kneeling across me. holding the back
of my head with his hand and pushing my face
down into the mud.

This activity would normally have kept him
happy for some time. but he found something of
greater interest I had instinctively used both
hands to protect myself as I fell. and he saw the
Watch on my wrist. In a moment he had
wrenched it off, and stood up to examine it I
scrambled to my feet and made a grab, but he
held it easily above his head and out of my
reach.

I said. panting, "Give that backF
"Ifs not yours," he said. "It's your father's."
I was in agony in case the Watch had been
damaged, broken maybe, in my fall, but even
so I attempted to get my leg between his to drop
him. He parried and. stepping back, said. "Keep
your distanced—he braced himself, as though preparing to throw a stone—"or I'11 see how far I
can fling it"

"If you do," I said, *youTl get a whipping for
ft."

There was a grin on his fleshy face. "So will
you. And your father lays on heavier than mine
does. I'll tell you what: I'll borrow it tor a
while. Maybe I'll let you have it back this afternoon. Or tomorrow."

"Someone will see you with it*

He grinned again. "Ill risk that"

I made a grab at him; I had decided that he
was bluffing about throwing it away. I almost
got him off balance, but not quite. We swayed
and struggled, and then crashed together and
rolled down into the ditch by the side of tile
road. There was some water in it, but we went
on fighting, even after a voice challenged us
from above. Jack-for it was he who had called
to us to get up—had to come down and pull us
apart by force. This was not difficult for him. He
was as big as Henry and tremendously strong
also. He dragged us back up to the road, got to
the root of the matter, took the Watch from
Henry, and dismissed him with a dip across the
back of the neck.

I said fearfully. Ts it au right?*

1 think so." He examined it and handed it to
me. "But you were a fool to bring it out"

"I wanted to show it to you."

"Not worth it," he said briefly. "Anyway, we'd
better see about getting it back. Ill lend a
hand."

Jack had always been around to lend a hand
as long as I could remember. It was strange. I
thought, as we walked toward the village, that
in just over a week's time I would be on my
own. The Capping would have taken place, and
Jack would be a boy no longer.

Jack stood guard while I put the Watch back
and returned the drawer key to the place where
I had found it I changed my wet and dirty
trousers and shirt, and we retraced our steps to
the ruins. No one knew wha^ these buildings had
once been, and I think one of the things that
attracted us was a sign, printed on a chipped and
rusted metal plate:

DANGER
6.600 VOLTS

We had no idea what Volts had been, but the
notion of danger, however far away and long
ago, was exciting. There was more lettering, but
for the most part the rust had destroyed it:

LECT   CITY

We wondered if that was the city it had come
from.

Farther along was the den Jack had made.
One approached it through a crumbling arch;

inside it was dry, and there was a place to build
a Bre. Jack had made one before coming out to
look for me, and had skinned, cleaned, and
skewered a rabbit ready for us to grilL There
would be food in plenty at home—the midday
meal on a Saturday was always lavish—but tins
did not prevent my looking forward greedily to
roast rabbit with potatoes baked in the embers
of the 5re. Nor would it stop me doing justice to
the steak pie my mother had in the oven. Although on the small side, I had a good appetite.

We watched and smelled the rabbit cooking in
companionable silence. We could get along very
well together without much conversation, though
normally I had a ready tongue. Too ready, perhaps—I knew that a lot of the trouble with Henry
arose because I could not avoid trying to get a
rise out of him whenever possible.

Jack was not much of a talker under any circumstances, but, to my surprise, after a time he
broke the silence. His talk was inconsequential
at first, chatter about events that had taken place
in the village, but I had the feeling that he was
trying to get around to something else, some
thing more Important. Then he stopped, stared
in silence for a second or two at the crisping
carcass, and said, "This place will be yours after
the Capping."

It was difficult to know what to say. I suppose
if I had thought about it at all, I would have
expected that he would pass the den on to me,
but I had not thought about it One did not think
much about things connected with the Cappings, and certainly did not talk about them.
For Jack, of all people, to do so was surprising
but what he said next was more surprising stflL

"In a way," he said, "I almost hope it doesn't
work. I'm not sure I wouldn't rather be a
Vagrant"

I should say something about the Vagrants.
Every village generally had a few—at that time
there were four in ours, as far as I knew—but the
number was constantly changing as some moved
off and others took their place. They occasionally
did a little work, but whether they did or not,
the village supported them. They lived in the
Vagrant House, which in our case stood on the
comer where the two roads crossed and was
larger than all but a handful of houses (my
father's being one). It could easily have accommodated a dozen Vagrants, and there had been
times when there had been almost that many

la / The WJiite Mountains

there. Food was supplied to them—it was not
luxurious, but adequate—and a servant looked
after the place. Other servants were sent to lend
a hand when the House filled up.

What was known, though not discussed, was
that the Vagrants were people for whom the
Capping had proved a failure. They had Caps,
as normal people did, but they were not working properly. If this were going to happen, it
usually showed itself in the first day or two
following a Capping: the person who had been
Capped showed distress, which increased as the
days went by, turning at last into a fever of the
brain. In this state they were clearly in much
pain. Fortunately the crisis did not last long;

fortunately also, it happened only rarely. The
great majority of Cappings were entirely successful. I suppose only about one in twenty
produced a Vagrant.

When he was well again, the Vagrant would
start his wanderings—he, or she, because it happened occasionally with girls, although much
more rarely. Whether it was because Vagrants
saw themselves as being outside the community
of normal people, or because the fever had left
a permanent restlessness in them, I did not
know. But off they would go and wander
through the land, stopping a day here, as long

Capping Day / 23
as a month there, but always moving on. Their
minds, certainly, had been affected. None of
them could settle to a train of thought for long.
and many had visions and did strange things.

They were taken for granted and looked after,
but like the Cappings, not much talked about
Children generally viewed them with suspicion
and avoided them. They. for their part, mostly
seemed melancholy and did not talk much even
to each other. It was a great shock to hear Jack
say he half wished to be a Vagrant, and I did
not know how to answer him. But he did not
seem to need a response.

He said, *The Watch ... do you ever think
what it must have been like in the days when
things like that were made?"

I had. from time to time, but it was another
subject on which speculation was not encouraged, and Jack had never talked in this way before. I said. "Before the Tripods?"

"Yes."

"Wen, we know it was the Black Age. There
were too many people and not enough food, so
that people starved and fought each other, and
there were all kinds of sicknesses, and ..."

"And things like the Watch were made—by
men, not the Tripods."

•We don't know that"

14 / The White Mountains

"Do you remember," he asked, "four years
ago, when I went to stay with my Aunt Matilda?"*

I remembered. She was his aunt. not mine,
even though we were cousins: she had married
a foreigner. Jack said, "She lives at Bishopstoke,
on the other side of Winchester. I went out one
day. walking, and I came to the sea. There were
the ruins of a city that must have been twenty
times as big as Winchester."

I knew of the ruined great-cities of the ancients. of course. But these too were little talked
of, and then with disapproval and a shade of
dread. No one would dream of going near them.
It was disquieting even to think of looking at
one, as Jack had done.

I said. Those were the cities where aH the
murdering and sickness was."

"So we are told. But I saw something there,
It was the hulk of a ship. rusting away so that in
places you could see right through it And it was
bigger than the village. Much bigger."

I fell silent I was trying to imagine it. to see
ft ia my mind as he had seen it in reality. But
my mind could not accept it

Jack said, "And that was built by men. Before
the Tripods came."

Again I was at a loss for words. In the end I
said lamely, "People are happy now."

Capping Day { 25

Jack turned the rabbit on the spit After a
while he said. **Yes. I suppose you're rig)it"

The weather stayed fine until Capping Day.
From morning till night people worked in the
fields, cutting the grass for hay. There had been
so much rain earlier that it stood high and
luxuriant, a promise of good winter fodder. The
Day itself, of course, was a holiday. After breakfast we went to church, and the parson preached
on the rights and duties of manhood, into which
Jack was to enter. Not of womanhood, because
there was no girl to be Capped. Jack. in fact,
stood alone, dressed in the white tunic which
was prescribed. I looked at him, wondering how
he was feeling, but whateverhis emotions were,
he did not show them.

Not even when, the service over. we stood out
in the street in front of the church, waiting for
the Tripod. The bells were ringing the Capping
Peal, but apart from that all was quiet No one
talked or wmspered or smiled. It was, we knew,
a great experience for everyone who had been
Capped; even the Vagrants came and stood in
the same rapt silence. But for us children Ac
time lagged desperately. And for Jack, apart
from everyone, in the middle of the street? I
felt for the first time a shiver of fear in the

i6 / The White Mountains

realization that at the next Capping I would be
standing there. I would not be alone, of course.
because Henry was to be presented with me.
There was not much consolation in that thought

At last we heard, above the clang or bells, the
deep staccato booming in the distance, and there
was a land of sigh from everyone. The booming
came nearer and then, suddenly, we could see it
over the roofs of the houses to the south: the
great hemisphere of gleaming metal rocking
through the air above the three articulate legs,
several times as high as the church. Its shadow
came before it and fell on us when it halted, two
of its less astride the river and the mill We
waited, and I was shivering in earnest now. unable to halt the tremors that ran through my
body.

Sir Geoffrey, the Lord of our Manor, stepped
forward and made a small stiff bow in the direction of the Tripod; he was an old man and
could not bend much nor easily. And so one of
the enormous burnished tentacles came down,
gently and precisely, and its tip curled about
Jack's waist, and it lifted him up, up, to where
a hole opened like a mouth in the hemisphere,
and swallowed him.

In the afternoon there were games, and people

Capping Day / 27
moved about the village, visiting, laughing, and
talking, and the young men and women who
were unmarried strolled together in the fields.
Then, in the evening, there was the Feast, with
tables set up in the street since the weather held
fair. and the smell of roast beef mixing with the
smells of beer and cider and lemonade, and all
kinds of cakes and puddings. Lamps were hung
outside the houses; in the dusk they would be lit
and glow like yellow blossoms along the street
But before the Feast started. Jack was brought
back to us.

There was the distant booming first, and the
quietness and waiting, and the tread of the
gigantic feet. shaking the earth. The Tripod
halted as before, and the mouth opened in the
side of the hemisphere, and then the tentacle
swept down and carefully set Jack by the place
which had been left for him at Sir Geoffrey's
right hand, I was a long way away, with the
children at the far end, but I could see him
clearly. He looked pale, but otherwise his face
did not seem any different The difference was in
his white shaved head, on which the darker
metal tracery of the Cap stood out like a spider's
web. His hair would soon grow again, over and
around the metal, and, with thick black hair
such as he had, in a few months the Cap would

z8 / The White Mountains

be almost unnoticeable. But it would be there

all the same, a part of him now till the day ho

died.

This, though, was the moment of rejoicing and
making merry. He was a man, and tomorrow
would do a man's work and get a man's pay.
They cut the choicest fillet of beef and brought
it to him. with a frothing tankard of ale, and Sir
Geom-ey toasted his health and fortune. I forgot
my earlier fears and envied him. and thought
how next year I would be there, a man myself.

I did not see Jack the next day, but the day
after that we met when. having finished my
homework, I was on my way to the den. He was
with four or five other men. coming back from
the fields. I called to him. and he smiled and,
after a moment's hesitation, let the others go on.
We stood facing each other, only a few yards
from the place where little more than a week
earlier .he had separated Henry and me. But
things were very different

I said. "How are you?"

It was not just a polite question. By now, if the
Capping were going to fail, he would be feeling
ttie pains and discomfort which would lead. In
due course, to his becoming a Vagrant He said,
Tm fine. Will"

Capping Day / ig

I hesitated, and blurted out, "What was it
like?"

He shook his head. "You know ifs not permitted to talk about that But I can promise you
that you won't be hurt"

I said, "But why?"

"Why what?"

"Why should the Tripods take people away
and Cap them? What right have they?"

"They do it for our good,"

"But I don't see why it has to happen. Fd
sooner stay as I am."

He smiled. "You can't understand now. but
you will understand when it happens. It's . . ."
He shook his head. **I can't describe it"

"Jack," I said, *Tve been thinking." He waited,
without much interest. "Of what you said—about
the wonderful things that men made. before the
Tripods."

"That was nonsense." he said, and turned and
walked on to the village. I watched him for a
time and then, feeling very much alone, made
my way to the den.

2

"My Name /s
Ozymand/as"

It was not until after his Capping that I understood how much I had depended on Jack for
companionship in the past Our alliance had
isolated me from other boys of roughly my age in
and around the village. I suppose it would have
been possible to overcome this—Joe Beith, the
carpenter's son, made overtures of friendship,
for one—but in the mood I was in I preferred to
be alone. I used to go down to the den and sit

"My Name Is OsymandiasT / ai
there for hours, thinking about it alL Henry
came once and made some jeering remarks, and
we fought My anger was so great that I beat
him decisively, and he kept out of my way after
that

From time to time I met Jack, and we exchanged words that meant nothing. His manner
to me was amiable and distant: it carried the
hint of a friendship suspended, a suggestion that
he was waiting on the tar side of a gulf which
in due course I would cross, and that then
everything would be as it had been before. This
did not comfort me, though, for the person I
missed was the old Jack, and he was gone forever. As I would be? The thought frightened me,
and I tried to dismiss it, but it continually re*
turned.

Somehow, in this doubt and fear and brooding, I found myself becoming interested in the
Vagrants. I remembered Jack's remark and wondered what he would have been like if the Capping had not worked. By now he would
probably have left the village. I looked at the
Vagrants who were staying with us and thought
of them as once being like Jack and myself, in
their own villages, sane and happy and with
plans for thm'r future. I was my father's only son

aa / The White Mountains

and would be expected to taice over the mfll
from him one day. But if the Capping were not
a success...

There were now three of them, two recently
arrived and a third who had been with us several
weeks. He was a man of my father's age, but his
beard was unkempt, his hair gray and sparse,
with the lines of the Cap showing through it
He spent his time collecting stones from the
fields near the village, and with them he-was
building a cairn outside the Vagrant House. Ho
collected perhaps twenty stones a day, each
about the size of a half brick. It was impossible
to understand why he chose one stone rather
than another, or what the purpose of the caim
was. He spoke very little, using words as a child
learning to talk does.

The other two were much younger, one of
them probably no more than a year from his
Capping. He talked a lot, and what he said
seemed almost to make sense, but never quite
did. The third, a few years older, could talk in a
way that one understood, but did not often do
so. He seemed sunk in a great sadness and
would lie in the road beside die House all day,
staring up at the sly.

He remained when the others moved on, tin

"My Name Is Ozymandia^ / 33
young one in the morning and the caim builder
in the afternoon of the same day. The pile of
stones stayed there, unfinished and without
meaning. I looked at them that evening and
wondered what I would be doing twenty-five
years from now. Grinding corn at the mill? Perhaps, Or perhaps wandering the countryside.
living on charity and doing useless things. Somehow the alternatives were not so black and white
as I would have expected. I did not know why,
but I thought I had a glimmer of understanding
of what Jack had meant that morning in the den.

The new Vagrant arrived the next day, and
being on my way to the den, I saw him come,
along the road from the west. He was in his
thirties, I judged, a powerfully built man, with
red hair and a beard. He carried an ash stick
and the usual small pack on his back, and he
was singing a song, quite tunefully, as he strode
along. He saw me, and stopped singing.

"Boy." he said. "what is the name of this
place?"

"It's called Wherton," I told him.

"Wherton," he repeated. "Ah, loveliest village
of the plain; here is no anguish, here no pain.
Do you know me, boy?"

s< / The White Mountofnf

I shook my head. "No."

"I am the king of this land. My wife was the
queen of a rainy country, but I left her weeping.
My name is Ozymandias. Look on my works, ye
mighty, and despair.*"

He talked nonsense, but at least he talked, and
file words themselves could be understood. They
sounded a bit like poetry, and I remembered the
name Ozymandias from a poem which I had
found in a book, one of the dozen or so on the
shelf in the parlor.

As he went on toward the village, I followed
him. Glancing back. he said, "Dost follow me,
boy? Wouldst be my page? Alas, alas. The fox
has his hole, and the bird shelters in the great
leafy oak, but the son of man has not where to
lay his head. Have you no business of your own,
then?"

"Nothing important"

"Nothing is important, true. but how does a
man find Nothing? Where shall he seek for it?
I tell you, could I find Nothing. I would be not
king but emperor. Who dwells in the House, this
day and hour?"

I assumed he was talking about the Vagrant
House.

"Only one," I said. "I don't know his name."

"My Name Is OzymandW / 35

"His name shall be Star. And yours?"

"Will Parker."

"Will is a good name. What trade does your
father follow. Will, for you wear too fine a doth
to be a laborer's son?"

"He keeps the mill."

"And this the burden of his song forever seems
to be: I care for nobody, no, not I, and nobody
cares for me. Have you many friends. Will?"

"No. Not many."

"A good answer. For he that proclaims many
friends declares that he has none."

I said, on an impulse which surprised me
when I reflected on it, "In fact, I don't have any.
I had one, but he was Capped a month ago."

He stopped in the road, and I did so too. We
were on the outskirts of the village, opposite the
Widow Ingold's cottage. The Vagrant looked at
me keenly.

"No business, of importance anyway, and no
friend. One who talks and walks with Vagrants.
How old are you. Will?"

Thirteen."

"You are small for it So you wffl take the Cap
next summer?"

"Yes"

Widow Ingold, I saw, was watching us

s6 / The 'White Mountains

through the curtains. The Vagrant also flicked
a glance in that direction, and suddenly started
dancing a weird little jig in the road. He sang, in
a cracked voice:

Under the greenwood tree^
Who loves to lie with me,
And tune his merry note
Unto the sweet bird's throat?

All the rest of the way to the Vagrant House he
talked nonsense, and I was glad to part from
him there.

My preoccupation with the Vagrants had been
noticed, and that evening my father took me to
task for it He was sometimes stem but more
often kindly—just according to his lights, but
he saw the world in simple shades of black and
white, and found it hard to be patient with
things that struck him as foolishness. There was
no sense that he could see in a boy hanging about
the Vagrant House: one was sorry for them and
it was a human duty to give them food and
shelter, but there it should end. I had been seen
that day with the most recent arrival, who appeared to be even madder than most It was
silly, and it gave tongues cause to wag. He hoped

"My Name Is OaymaniW / 97
he would hear no more such reports, and I was
not to go into the Vagrant House on any pretext
Did I understand?

I indicated that I did. There was more to it, I
realized, than concern over people talking about
me. He might be willing to listen, at a remove,
to news from other villages and from the city,
but for gossip and ill-natured talk he truly had
nothing but contempt

I wondered if his tear was of something quite
different, and much worse. As a boy he had had
an elder brother who had turned Vagrant; this
had never been spoken of in our house, but Jack
had told me of it long ago. There were some who
said that this kind of weakness ran In families,
and he might think that my interest in Vagrants
was a bad omen for the Capping next year. This
was not logical, but I knew that a man impatient
of foolishness in others may yet have fallibilities
of his own.

What with this, and my own embarrassment
at the way in which the new Vagrant had behaved in Ac presence of others, I made a land
of resolve to do as I had been bid, and for a
couple of days kept well dear of Ac Vagrants.
Twice I saw the man who had called himself
Ozymandias downing and talking to himself in

a8 f The White Mountains

the street, and shied off. But on the third day I
went to school not by the back way, the path
along the river bank, but out of our front door,
past the church. And past the Vagrant House.
There was no sign of anyone, but when I came
back in the middle of the day, I saw Ozymandias
coming from the opposite direction. I quickened
xny step, and we met at the crossroads.

He said, "Welcome, Willl I have not seen thee,
these many days. Hast aught ailed thee, boy?
A murrain? Or haply the common cold?"

There had been something about him that
had interested, even fascinated me. and it was
that which had brought me here in the hope of
encountering him again. I admitted that but,
in the moment of admission, was once more conscious of the things that had kept me away.
There was no one in our immediate vicinity, but
other children, coming from school, were not
far behind me. and there were people who knew
me on the far side of the crossroads.

I said, "I've been busy with things," and
prepared to move on.

He put a hand on my arm. "Wilt tarry. Will?
He that has no friend can travel at his own
pace, and pause, when he chooses, for a few
minutes' converse."

*My Name Is Oxymandia^ / 29

Tve got to get back," I said. "My dinner will
be waiting."

I had looked away from him. After only a
slight pause, he dropped his hand.

"Then do not let me keep you. Will. for
though man does not live on bread alone, it is
bread he must have first."

His tone was cheerful, but I thought I detected something eke. Disappointment? I started
to walk on. but after a few steps checked and
looked back. His eyes were still on me.

I said. in a low voice, stumbling over the
words. "Do you go out into the fields at all?*

"When the sun shines."

"Farther along the road on which I met you
Acre's an old ruin, on the right—1 have a den
there, on the far side where the copse comes
dose. It has a broken arch for an entrance and
an old red stone outside, like a seat"

He said softly. *T hear, WilL Do you spend
much time there?"

"I go there after school, usually."

He nodded. "Do so."

Abruptly his gaze went from me to the sky.
and he held his arms out above his head and
shouted, "And in that year came Jim, the Prophet
of Serendipity, and with him a host of angels,

30 / The WTilts Mountains

riding their white geldings across the sky, raising
a dust of clouds and striking sparks from their
hooves that burned the wheat in the fields, and
the evil in men's hearts. So spake Ozymandias.
Selahl Selahl SeW

The others were coming up the road from the
school I left him and hurried on toward home.
I could hear him shouting until I passed the
church.

I went to the den after school with mingled
feelings of anticipation and unease. My father
had said he hoped he would hear no more reports of my mixing with Vagrants, and had
placed a direct prohibition on my going into
Vagrant House. I had obeyed the second part
and was taking steps to avoid the first, but I was
under no illusion that he would regard this as
anything but willful disobedience. And to what
end? The opportunity of talking to a man whose
conversation was a hodgepodge of sense and
nonsense, with the latter very much predominating. It was not worth it

And yet, remembering the keen blue eyes
under the mass of red hair, I could not help
feeling that there was something about this man
that made the risk, and the disobedience, worth

*Afy Name Is OxymanSia^ f 31
while. I kept a sharp lookout on my way to the
ruins, and called out as I approached the den.
But there was no one there; nor for a good time
after that I began to think he was not coming—
that his wits were so addled that he had faded
to take my meaning, or forgotten it altogetherwhen I heard a twig snap and, peering out, saw
Ozymandias. He was less than ten yards from
the entrance. He was not singing or talking, but
moving quietly, almost stealthily.

A new fear struck me then. There were talcs
that a Vagrant once, years ago, had murdered
children in a dozen villages, before he was
caught and hanged. Could they be true, and
could this be such another? I had invited him
here. telling no one, and a-cry for help would
not be heard as far from the village as this. I
froze against the wall of the den, tensing myself
for a rush that might carry me past him to the
comparative safety of the open.

But a single glance at him as he looked in
reassured me. Whether mad or not, I was sure
this was a man to be trusted. The lines in his
face were the lines of good humor.

He said, "So I have found you. Will." He
glanced about him in approval. "You have a
snug place here."

QS / The White Mountains

"My cousin Jack did most of it He is better
with his hands than I am."

"The one that was Capped this summer?"

"Yes."

"You watched the Capping?" I nodded. "How
is he since then?"

"Well/* I said. "but different"

"Having become a man."

"Not only that"

"Tell me."

I hesitated a moment, but in voice and gesture
as well as face he inspired confidence. He was
also, I reali2ed, talking naturally and sensibly,
with none of the strange words and archaic
phrases he had used previously. I began to
talk, disjointedly at first and then with more
case, of what Jack had said, and of my own later
perplexity. He listened, nodding at times but not
interrupting.

When I had finished, he said. Tell me. Will
—what do you think of the Tripods?"

I said truthfully. "I don't know. I used to take
them for grantcd-and I was frightened of them,
I suppose—but now .. . There are questions in
my mind."

"Have you put them to your elders?"

"What good would it do? No one talks about
the Tripods. One learns that as a child."

"My Name Is Osymandia^ / 33

"Shall I answer them for you?" he asked.
"Such as I can answer."

There was one thing I was sure of, and I
blurted it out "You are not a Vagrant!"

He smiled. "It depends what meaning you
give that word. I go from place to place, as you
see. And I behave strangely."

"But to deceive people, not because you cannot help it. Your mind has not been changed."

"No. Not as the minds of the Vagrants are.
Nor as your cousin Jack's was, either."

"But you have been Cappedl"

He touched the mesh of metal under his
thatch of red hair.

"Agreed. But not by the Tripods. By men -- free men."

Bewildered, I said, "I don't understand."

"How could you? But listen, and I will teu
you. The Tripods, first. Do you know what they
are?" I shook my head, and he went on. "Nor
do we, as a certainty. There are two stories
about them. One is that they were machines.
made by men. which revolted against men and
enslaved them."

"In the old days? The days of the giant ship.
of the great-cities?*

"Yes. It is a story I find hard to believe, because I do not see how men could give intelligence to machines. The other story is that they

do not come originally from this world, but

another."

"Another world?"

I was lost again. He said, "They teach you
nothing about the stars in school, do they? That
is something that perhaps makes the second
story more likely to be the true one. You are
not told that the stars at night-all the hundreds
o£ thousands of them—are suns like our own sun,
and that some may have planets circling them as
our earth circles this sun."

I was confused, my head spinning with die
idea. I said. "Is this true?"

"Quite true. And it may be that the Tripods
came. in the first place, from one of those worlds.
It may be that the Tripods themselves are only
vehicles for creatures who travel inside them.
We have never seen the inside of a Tripod, so
we do not know."

"And the Caps?"

"Are the means by which they keep men docile
and obedient to them."

At first thought it was incredible. Later it
seemed incredible that I had not seen this before. But all my life Capping had been something I had taken for granted. All my elders
were Capped, and contented to be so. It was

"My Name Js Oxymandia^ / 35
the mark of the adult, the ceremony itself solemn and linked in one's mind with the holiday
and the feast. Despite the few who suffered pain
and became Vagrants, it was a day to which
every child looked forward. Only lately, as one
could begin to count the months remaining had
there been any doubts in my mind; and the
doubts had been ill-formed and difficult to sustain against the weight of adult assurance. Jack
had had doubts too, and then, with the Capping
they had gone.

I said. They make men think the things th«
Tripods want them to think?"

They control the brain. How. or to what extent. we are not sure. As you know, the metal
is joined to the flesh, so that it cannot be removed. It seems that certain general orders are
given when the Cap is put on. Later, specific
orders can be given to specific people, but as
far as the majority are concerned, they do not
seem to bother."

"How do the Vagrants happen?"

"That again is something at which we can only
guess. It may be that some minds are weak to
start with and crumble under the strain. Or perhaps the reverse: too strong, so that they fight
against domination until they break."

I thought of that and shuddered. A voice inside one's head, inescapable and irresistible.
Anger burned in me, not only for the Vagrants
but for all the otbers-my parents and elders,
Jack. •.

"You spoke of free men," I said* Then the
Tripods do not rule an the earth."

"Near enough alL There are no lands with-
out them, if that's what you mean. Listen, when
the Tripods first came—or when they revolted
—there were terrible happenings. Cities were
destroyed like anthills, and millions on millions
were killed or starved to death."*

Millions ... I tried to envisage it, but could
not Our village, which was reckoned no small
place, numbered about four hundred souls.
There were some thirty thousand living in and
around the city of Winchester. I shook my head.

He went on. "Those that were left the Tripods
Capped, and once Capped they served the Tri-
pods and helped to kill or capture other men.
So within a generation things were much as they
are now. But in one place, at least, a few men
escaped. Far to the south, across the sea, there
are high mountains, so high that snow lies on
them all the year round. The Tripods keep to
low ground—perhaps because they travel over
it more easily, or because they do not like the

"My Name Is OaymandiosT / 37
thin air higher up—and these are places which
men who are alert and free can defend against
the Capped who live in the surrounding valleys.
In fact, we raid their farms for our food,"

" *We?' So you come from there?" He nodded.
"'And the Cap you wear?"

Taken from a dead man. I shaved my head,
and it was moulded to fit my skull Once my
hair had grown again, it was hard to tell it from
a true Cap. But it gives no commands."

"So you can travel as a Vagrant," I said, "and
no one suspects you. But why? With what pur-
pose?"

Tartly to see things and report what I see.
But there is something more important I came
for you."

I was startled. "For me?"

"You, and others like you. Those who are not
yet Capped, but who are old enough to ask ques-
tions and understand answers. And to make a
long, difficult, perhaps dangerous journey."

To the south?"

To the south. To the White Mountains. With
a hard life at the Journey's end. But a free one.
Well?"

"You wffl take me there?"

"No. I am not ready to go back yet And it

38 / The White Mountains

would be more dangerous. A boy traveling on his
own could be an ordinary runaway, but one
traveling with a Vagrant . . . You must go on
your own. If you decide to go."

The sea," I said, "how do I cross that?"

He stared at me, and smiled. "The easiest
part. And I can give you some help for the rest,
too." He brought something from his pocket
and showed it to me. "Do you know what this
is?"

I nodded. "I have seen one. A compass. The
needle points always to the north."

"And this."

He put his hand inside his tunic. There was
a hole in the stitching, and he put his fingers
down, grasped something, and drew it out It
was a long cylinder of parchment, which he un-
rolled and spread out on the floor, putting a
stone on one end and holding the other. I saw a
drawing on it, but it made no sense.

"This is called a map," he said. The Capped
do not need them, so you have not seen one be-
fore. It tells you how to reach the White Moun-
tains. Look. there. That signifies the sea. And
here, at the bottom, the mountains."

He explained all the things on the map. des-
cribing the landmarks I should look for and

"My Name Is Ozymondtes" / 39
telling me how to use the compass to find my
way. And for the last part of the journey, be-
yond the Great Lake, he gave me instructions
which I had to memorize. This in case the map
was discovered. He said, "But guard it well, in
any case. Can you make a hole in the lining of
your tunic, as I have done?"

"Yes. I'll keep it safe."

"That leaves only the sea crossing. Go to this
town. Rumney." He pointed to it. "You will find
fishing boats in the harbor. The Orion is owned
by one of us. A tall man, very swarthy, with a
long nose and thin lips. His name is Curtis, Cap-
tain Curtis. Go to him. He will get you across
the sea. That is where the hard part begins.
They speak a different language there. You must
keep from being seen or spoken to, and learn to
steal your food as you go."

"I can do that. Do you speak their language?"

It and others. Such as your own. It was for
that reason I was given this mission." He smiled.
"I can be a madman in four tongues."

I said, "I came to you. If I had not..."

1 would have found you. I have some skffl in
discovering the right kind of boy. But you can
help me now. Is there any other in these parts
that you think might be worth the tackling?"

I shook my head. "No. No one,"

40 / The White Mountain?

He stood up, stretching his legs and rubbing
his knee.

Then tomorrow I will move on. Cive me a
week before you leave, so that no one suspects
a link between us."

''Before you go..."

-Yes?"

"Why did they not destroy men altogether in-
stead of Capping them?"

He shrugged. "We can't read their minds.
There are many possible reasons. Part of the
food you grow here goes to men who work un-
derground, mining metals for the Tripods. And
in some places there are hunts."

•Hunts?"

"The Tripods hunt men, as men hunt foxes."
I shivered. "And they take men and women into
their cities, for reasons at which we can only
guess."

They have cities, then?"

"Not on this side of the sea, I have not seen
one. but I know those who have. Towers and
spires of metal, it is said, behind a great encircl-
ing wall Gleaming ugly places."

I said. "Do you know how long it has been?"

That the Tripods have ruled? More than a
hundred years. But to the Capped it is the same

*My Name Is Ozymandta^' / 41
as ten thousand." He gave me his band. "Do
your best, Will."

"Tes," I said. His grasp was firm.

1 will hope to meet you again, in the White
Mountains."

The next day. as he had said, he was gone. I
set about making my preparations. There was a
loose stone in the back wall of the den with a
hiding place behind it. Only Jack knew of it, and
Jack would not come here again. I put things
there—food, a spare shirt, a pair of shoes-
ready for my journey. I took the food a little at
a time, choosing what would keep best—salt
beef and ham. a whole small cheese, oats and
such. I think my mother noticed some of the
things missing and was puzzled by it

I was sorry at the thought of leaving her and
my father, and of their unhappiness when they
found me gone. The Caps offered no remedy for
human grief. But I could not stay. any more
than a sheep could walk through a slaughter-
house door once it knew what lay beyond. And
I knew that I would rather die than wear a Cap.

3

The
Road to
the Sea

Two things made me wait longer than a week
before I set out The first was that the moon
was new, no more than a sliver of light, and I
was reckoning to travel by night. I needed a half
moon at least for that The other was something
I had not expected: Henry's mother died.

She and my mother were sisters. She had been
ffl for a long time, but her actual death was sud-
<len* My mother took charge of things, and the

The Rood (o tfie Sea / 43
first thing she did was to bring Henry over to
our house and put up a bed for him in my room.
This was not welcome, from any point of view,
but naturally I could not object to it My sym-
pathy was coldly offered, and coldly received,
and after that we kept to ourselves, as far as
was possible for two boys sharing a not very
large room.

It was a nuisance, I decided, but not really
important The nights were not yet light enough
for me to travel, and I presumed that he would
be going back home after the funeral. But when,
on the morning of the funeral, I said something
of this to my mother, I found to my horror that
I was wrong.

She said, "Henry's staying with us."

*For how long?"

"For good. Until you have both been Capped,
anyway. Your Uncle Ralph has too much to do
on the farm to be able to look after a boy, and
he doesn't want to leave him in the care of serv-
ants all day.*

T did not say anything, but my expression
must have been revealing. She said, with un-
usual sternness, "And I will not have you sulk-
ing about iti He has lost his mother, and you

44 / The White Mountains

should have the decency to show some com-
passion."

I said, "Can't I have my own room at least?
There's the apple room spare."

"I would have given you your room hack hut
for the way you*ve behaved. In less than a year
you will be a man. You must leam to act like a
man, not a sullen child."

"But.. "

"I will not discuss it with you," she said an-
grily. "If you say another word, I shall speak to
your father."

With which she left the room, her skirt sweep-
ing inperiously around the door. Thinking about
it, I decided that it made small difference. It I
hid my clothes in the mill room, I could sneak
out after he was asleep and change there. I was
determined to leave, as planned, on the halt
moon*

There was heavy rain during the next two
days, but after that it cleared, and a blazing hot
afternoon dried up most of the mud. Everything
went well. Before going to bed, I had hidden my
clothes and pack and a couple of big loaves with
them. After that it was only a matter of staying
awake, and keyed up as I was, it did not prove

The Road to the Sea / 45
difficult Eventually Henry's breathing, on the
far side of the room. became deep and even in
sleep. I lay and thought about the journey: the
sea, the strange lands beyond, the Great Lake,
and the mountains on which snow lay all sum-
mer through. Even without what I had learned
of the Tripods and the Caps, the idea was ex-
citing.

The moon rose above the level of my window,
and I slipped out of bed. Carefully I opened the
bedroom door, and carefully closed it after me.
The house was very quiet The stairs creaked a
little under my feet, but no one would pay at-
tention even if they heard it It was an old
wooden house, and creakings at night were not
unusual. I went through the big door to the
mill room, found my clothes, and dressed
quickly. Then out through the door by the river.
The wheel was motionless and the water gur-
gled and splashed, black streaked with silver,
all around it

Once across the bridge, I felt much safer. In
a few minutes I would be dear of the village. A
cat tiptoed delicately across the cobbles, and an-
other, on a doorstep, licked its moon-bright fur.
A dog barked, hearing me, perhaps, and suspic-
ious, but not near enough to be alarming. With

46 / The Wrfte Mountain

the Widow Ingold's cottage behind me, I broke
into a run. I arrived at the den panting and out
of breath, but pleased with myself for having
got away undetected.

With flint and steel and an oil-soaked rag, I
lit a candle, and set about filling my pack. I
had overestimated the amount of space at my
disposal; after several reshufflings I still could
not get one loaf in. WeU, I could carry it for
now, and I proposed to stop and eat at dawn;

there would be room after that I had a last look
around the den, making sure I had left nothing
I would need, doused the candle and slipped it
in my pocket, and went out

It was a good night to be going. The sky
bright with stars—all suns, like our own?—and
the half moon rising, the air gentle. I picked up
my pack to put it on. As I did, a voice spoke
from the shadows, a few feet away. Henr/s
voice.

He said, 1 heard you go out, and I followed
you."

I could not see his face, but I thought there
was a mocking tone In his voice. I may have
been wrong—it may have been no more than
nervousness—but just then I thought he was
trowing over having tracked me down. I felt

The Boad to the Sea f 47
blind anger at this and, dropping my pack,
rushed at him. I had been the victor in two of
our last three encounters, and I was confident
that I could beat him again,

Overconfident, as it proved, and blind anger
was no help. He knocked me down, and I got
up, and he knocked me down again. In a short
time I was on the ground, and he was sitting on
me, pinioning my wrists with his hands. I strug-
gled and sweated and heaved, but it was no
good. He had me quite firmly.

"Listen." he said, "I want to teD you some-
thing. I know you're running away. You must
be, with that pack. What I*m saying is, I want
to come with you."

For answer I made a quick-Jerk and twist, but
his body rolled with mine and kept me fastened.
He said, panting a little. "I want to come with
you. There's nothing for me here, now."

His mother, my Aunt Ada, had been a quici^
lively, warm-hearted woman, even during the
long months of illness. My Uncle Ralph, on the
other hand, was a gloomy and taciturn man.
who had been willing—perhaps relieved—to let
his son go to another's home. I saw what Henry
meant

There was something else, too, of more prac-

48 / The White Mountains
tical importance. It I had beaten him in the
Eght—what then? Leave him here. with the risk
of his raising the alarm? There was nothing else
I could have done. Whereas if he were to come
with me ... I could give him the slip before we
reached the port and Captain Curtis. I had no
intention of taking him there with me. I still dis-
liked him, and even if I had not, I would have
been reluctant to share the secrets I had had
from Ozymandias,

I had stopped struggling. I said, "Let me up."

"Can I come with you?"

Tes."

He allowed me to get up. I dusted myself,
and we stared at each other in the moonlight. I
said. "You haven't brought any food, of course.
Well have to share what I've got"

A couple of days would see us within reach
of the port. and I had enough for two for that
time.

"Come on," I said. "We'd better get started."

We made good progress through bright moon-
light and. when dawn came, were well clear of
familiar country. I called a brief halt, and we
rested, and ate half of one of the loaves with
cheese and drank water from a stream. Then

The Road to the Sea f 49
we continued, more and more tired as the day
wore on and the sun scorched its way up
through a dry blue sky.

It was about midday and we were hot and
sweating, when, reaching the crest of a rise, we
looked down into a saucer-shaped valley. The
land was well cutivated. There was a village.
and other dwellings dotted about, with the ant-
like figures of men working in the fields. The
road ran through the valley and the village.
Henry clutched my arm, pointing.

-LookF

Four men on horseback were making for the
village. It could have been any errand. On the
other hand, it could have been a search party
looking tor us.

I came to a decision. We had been skirting a
wood. I said, **WeTl stay in the wood till eve-
ning. We can get some sleep and be fresh for
the night"

"Do you think traveling by night is the best
way?** Henry asked. "I know we're less likely to
be seen, but we can't see as well ourselves. We
could work around the top of the ridge—there's
no one up here."

I said, Tou do as you like. Fm lying up."

He shrugged. "Well stay here if you say so."

y» / The White Mountains

His ready acquiescence did not soothe me. I
had the uneasy feeling that what he had said
was not unreasonable. I made my way in silence
into the wood, and Henry followed. We found
a place, deep in the brush, where we were not
likely to be noticed even by someone passing
quite close, and stretched out I must have fallen
asleep almost at once.

When I awoke, it was nearly dark. I saw
Henry asleep beside me. If I were to get up
quietly. I might be able to sneak away without
waking him. The idea was tempting. It seemed
unfair, though, to leave him here, in a wood,
with night coming on. I put my hand out to
shake him and noticed something as I did so: he
had looped the strap of my pack round his arm,
so that I could not have taken it without dis-
turbing him. The possibility had occurred to
him, too!

He woke at my touch. We had the rest of the
loaf and a shank of ham before moving off. The
trees were dense, and we did not see much of
the sly until we came out I realized then that
the gloom was not simply due to the near ap-
proach of night; it had clouded over while we
slept, and I felt an occasional heavy drop of
lain on my bare arms and face. The half moon

The Road to the Sea / 52
was not going to be much help behind that
cover.

In fading light we made our way down into
the valley and up the slope beyond. Lamps were
lit in the windows of houses, enabling us to give
them a wide berth. There was a flurry of rain,
but the evening was warm and it dried on us as
we walked. At the top we looked down at the
clustering lights of the village and then went on
to southeast. Darkness fell rapidly after that. We
were on rolling upland, mainly of close-cropped
grass. At one point we came across a ramshackle
hut, plainly deserted, and Henry suggested stay-
ing there till the light improved, but I would
not have it, and he plodded on behind me.

It was some time before-either of us spoke.
Then Henry said, "'Listen.*
In some annoyance. I said, ''What is ft now?*
"I think someone's coming after vs."
I heard it myself: the sound of feet on the
grass behind us. And more than one pair of feet
We could have been seen by people in the vil-
lage. warned to watch out for us by the four
horsemen. And they could have come up the
hill after us, and could now be quietly dosing
in.
I wluspcred. "Run for itP

5» / The White Mountain*

Without waiting for him, I started pelting
through the night's blackness. I could hear
Henry running nearby, and I thought I could
also hear our pursuers. I put on a fresh spurt
As I did, a stone turned under my right foot
There was a jolt of pain and I fell, gasping as
the air was forced from my lungs.

Henry had heard my fall. He checked and
said, "Where are you? Are you all right ?"

The moment I tried to put weight on my
right ankle, I felt sick with pain. Henry tried to
lift me, and I groaned in protest

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

"My ankle .,. I think ifs broken. You'd bet-
ter go on. Theyll be here any moment"

He said, in an odd voice. 1 think they're here
now."

•What. . . r

There was warm breath on my cheek. I put
my hand out and touched something woolly,
which immediately backed away.

•SheepF

Henry said, ^ suppose they were curious.
They do that sort of thing sometimes."

"You stupid fooll" I said, "You've had vs run-
ning from a flock of sheep, and now look what's
happened."

The Rood to the Sea / 53

He did not say anything, but knelt beside me
and started feeling my ankle. I winced and bit
my lip to avoid crying out

I don't think it's a break," he said. "Trobably
a sprain, or something. But youTI have to rest up
a day or two."

I said savagely, That sounds fine."

^We'd better get you back to the hut TO give
you a fireman's lift."

I had felt odd spots of rain again. Now it
started coming down heavily—enough to
dampen my inclination to reply angrily and re-
fuse bis help. He heaved me up on his back. It
was a nightmarish journey. He had difficulty
getting a proper hold. and I think I was heavier
than he had bargained for. He had to keep put-
ting me down and resting. It was pitch black,
and the rain was sluicing out of the heavens.
Every time he put me down, the pain stabbed
my foot As time went on I began to think that
he had taken the wrong direction and missed
the hut in the dark; it would have been easy
enough to do so.

But at last it loomed up out of the night, and
the door opened when he lifted the latch. There
was a scampering, probably of rats, and he car-
ried me the last few feet and set me down with

S4 / The White MowdtOns

a sigh of exhaustion. Stumbling about, he found
a pile of straw in a comer, and I crawled over
to it My foot was throbbing, and I was soaked
and miserable. Moreover, we had slept several
hours earlier that day. It took me a long time to
get to sleep.

When I awoke it was daylight, and the rain
had stopped. The deep blue sky of early morn-
ing was framed by a glassless window. The hut
was furnished only with a bench and a trestle
table, with an old saucepan and kettle and a
couple of china mugs hanging on hooks against
one walL There was a fireplace with a stack of
wood. and the heap of straw that we were lying
on. We? Henry was not there: the straw wa»
empty where he had been lying. I called, and
after a moment called again. There was no an-
swer. I dragged myself up. wincing with pain,
and edged to the door, bopping and hanging on
to the walL

There was no sign of Henry. Then I saw that
the pack was not on the floor, where I had
dropped it the night before.

I hobbled out and sat against the stone wall
of the hut The first horizontal rays of the sun
wanned me while I thought about my situation.

The Koad to the Sea / SS
Henry, it seemed dear, had abandoned me and
taken the rest of the food with him. After wish-
ing himself on me, he had left me here. helpless
and—the more so as I thought about it—hungry.
It was no good trying to think clearly. Anger
was irresistible, and I found myself wallowing
in it At least it helped me forget my throbbing
foot and the empty void of my stomach.

Even when I was calm enough to start work-
ing things out, it did not improve matters much.
I was a couple of miles at least from the nearest
dwelling. I supposed I could crawl that distance,
though it was not likely to be enjoyable. Or per-
haps someone—a shepherd, maybe—would come
up and within hailing distance during the day.
Either way it meant being carted back to Wher-
ton in disgrace. Altogether a miserable and
humiliating end to the adventure. I started to
feel sony for myself.

I was at a low point when I heard someone
on the far side of the hut and. a moment later
Henry's voice: "Where are you. Will?"

I answered, and he came around. I said, 1
thought you'd pushed off. You took the pack.""

"Well, I needed it to cany things.^

•What things?*

Tit will be a couple of days before you can

S6 f The White Mowdaha

move, I thought it best to get hold of stuff while

I could.-

He opened the pack and showed me a loaf, a
hunk of cold roast beef, and a pork pie.

"I got it from a farmhouse down the hill," he
said. "The larder window was open. Not a very
big one-I thought Fd got stuck at one stage."

I felt immensely relieved, but at the same
time resentful. He looked at me, grinning, wait-
ing to be praised for his resourcefulness. I said
sharply. "What about the food that was in the
pack already?"

Henry stared at me. ^ stuck it on the shelf.
Didn't you see?"

I hadn't, of course, because I hadn't looked.

It was three days before my ankle was strong
enough to travel. We stayed in the hut. and
twice more Henry went down into the valley
and foraged for food. I had time on my hands:

time to think. Henry, it was true. had raised the
false alarm over the sheep, but only because he
nad keener hearing; I had been as much de-
ceived. And it was I who had insisted on travel-
ing by night, with no moon, while he had
wanted to lie up. And now I was dependent on
him. Misgivings remained—one does not over-

TJie Road to the Sea / 57

come as long-standing a hostility as ours in a
few days, especially when under an obligation-
but I did not see how I could cany out my plan
of losing him before I reached Rumney. In the
end, I told him it all—where I was heading, what
I had learned from Ozymandias.

He said, "It was because of the Capping that
I really wanted to get away. I didn't have any
place in mind, of course, but I thought I might
be able to hide, for a time, at any rate."

I remembered Ozymandias asking me if there
was anyone else who might be willing to go
south, and my reply. I put my fingers down in-
side the lining of my jacket

"This is the map," I said.

4

Beanpole

We came into Rumney in the early evening of a
day that had been alternately bright and stormy;

we were wet and tired, and my ankle was ach-
ing. No one paid us any attention. For one thing,
of course, it was a town. and people in a town
did not expect to be able to identify everyone as
local or a foreigner, as they would in a village.
And this was a port, also—a place of comings
and goings, quite unlike the easy familiar round

Beanpole / 59
of the country. There was an exciting bustle of
activity, the glimpse of sea at the end of a long
street, men in blue jerseys sucking on pipes, a
few tardy sea gulls grabbing out of the air for
food. And all the smells: tobacco, tar, spices, the
smell of the sea itself.

Dusk was thickening by Ac time we reached
the harbor. There were dozens of boats of all
sizes tied up, and others standing out in the har-
bor, sails close reefed on their masts. We wan-
dered along the quay, reading their names. The
May^elle^ the Black Swan, Venturer, the day
Cordon ... but no. Orion.
"She might be at sea," I said.
''What do you think we should do?"
"Well have to find somewhere to sleep*
Henry said, "I wouldn't mind finding some
food as well."

We had finished our provisions that morning.
The windows of the taverns along the water-
front were brightly lit in the twilight, and we
could hear singing from some of them. From
some. also, issued rich cooking smells that made
my belly groan in protest against its emptiness.
In a nearby window there was a board, and
chalked on it: HOT PIES—SIXPENCE. I still had a
little money that I had brought with me, which

60 / The White Mountains

I had not dared spend before. I told Henry to

wait for me and slipped in through the door.

It was a low-ceilinged wooden-beamed room,
with scrubbed deal tables at which people were
eating, swilling the food down with mugs of
beer. I did not study them closely, but went to
the serving counter, where I handed over my
shilling and took the two pies from a dark girl
who was talking all the time to a sailor at the
nearest table. I made for the door with them,
but a hand reached out and took a crushing grip
on my arm.

He looked to be a very big man, too, until he
stood up. I saw then that he was thickset but,
because of the shortness or his legs, only a cou-
ple of inches taller than I. He had a yellow
beard and yellow hair receding from his fore-
head, where the wires of his Cap showed up.
He said in. a harsh, barking voice, **WeIl» lad,
how would you like to be a sailor?"

I shook my head. "No.**

He stared at me. "Are you from these parts?"

"Yes."

"Would you say your folks will be seeking
you if you don't come back tonight?"

I said boldly, "I only live three streets from
here. They'll be looking for me if I'm not back
right away."

Beanpole / 6t

He was silent for a second and then laughed,
deeply and unpleasantly.

**You tell me so, with an accent like that!
You're from the country if ever I heard a coun-
try lad." I gave a quick twist and tried to break
free. "Now then, no trouble. Save your strength
for the Black Swan."

He dragged me to the door. No one paid any
attention, and I realized the scene could not be
an uncommon one. Crying out would do no
good, either. If they did not ignore me, they
could very well ask questions which I did not
want to answer. There might be a chance of
breaking clear outside. Not much, though, be-
cause I had felt his strength. And the Black
Swan was moored no more- than a hundred
yards away.

I saw him as we reached the door: a tall man,
with a long. thin- lipped face, black-bearded and
swarthy. I called out, "Captain Curtisi"

He gave me one swift glance and challenged
my captor.

"Leave him be. Rowley. That's my boy. I
signed him on this afternoon."

The man he had called Rowley looked for a
moment as though he were going to argue, but
Captain Curtis took a step toward him, and he
let go of my arm. He said, "You should keep

Ga / The Whtte Mountains

him on board and not let him go wandering

around the town."

1 can look after my own crew.** Captain Cur-
tis said. "I want no advice from you."

Ozymandlas had said that crossing the sea
would be the easiest part. and he was right Tha
Orion was one of the ships out in the harbor—
we nearly had missed her, because she was sail-
ing on the midnight tide—and Captain Curtis
took us to her in a dinghy. He single-oared us
across the harbor, threading his way between
lines and buoys, to the ship's dark hulk. She was
a trawler of no more than a hundred tons. but
she looked enormous as I made my way, sway-
ing and barking my knuckles, up the rope ladder
to the deck. Only one of the crew of six was on
board, a tall, awkward, gently spoken man with
gold rings in his ears. The others were Capped,
Captain Curtis said, but he was one of us.

It was essential that we should not be seen
by the rest of the crew because of the difficulty
of explaining our one-way voyage. We were put
in Captain Curtis's own cabin, where there were
two bunks. It did not occur to us to ask where
he was going to sleep. We were both tired. I feU
asleep at once, and was only half wakened some-

Beanpole / 63
time later by the pounding of feet overhead and
the grinding roar of the anchor chain coming up.

I had heard tales of the motion of the waves
making people sick. but though the Orion was
rolling a little when I awoke the next morning,
it was not enough to trouble me. The captain
brought us breakfast: bacon, fried eggs, a hil-
lock of fried potatoes, and mugs full of a hot
brown liquid that gave off a strange but glorious
smell. Henry sniffed at his.

"What is it?"

"Coffee. It comes from a long way off and
costs a lot to landsmen. Are you all right?" We
nodded. "No one will come in here. They know
my door is always locked. But keep quiet, all
the same. Ifs only for today^ With this wind w
shall be in harbor before sundown."

The cabin had a porthole, through which we
could stare out at blue waves, topped here and
there with white. It was a strange sight for two
who had never seen a stretch of water bigger
than the lake up at the Manor House, and at
first we were fascinated, but soon grew used to
it, and at last bored. During the day only one
thing happened to break the monotony, though
that was startling enough.

In the middle of the afternoon, above the

64 / The White Mountains

creak of ropes and stays and the slap of the
waves, we heard a new sound, a high-pitched
wailing, far off, that seemed to rise up from the
sea itself. Henry was at the porthole.

"Come and look. Will," he said.

There was urgency in his voice. I put down
the piece of wood I had been trying to whittle
into the shape of a boat and went to join him.
The sea was blue-green and empty, marked only
by the silver bar of sunlight that shimmered out
to the horizon. But something moved in the
silver, a flicker in the bright haze. Until, crossing
from the sun path into the blue, it took on shape.
A Tripod, followed by a second and a third. Six
of them, all told.

I said, in wonder, "Can they walk on water?**

They're coming this way."

They were moving fast. I saw that their legs
did not move, as they did in crossing land, but
remained fixed and triangulated, and that each
foot raised a bow wave which, supposing they
were of the usual size, must be twenty feet high.
They were traveling much faster than a horse
gallops. They kept their course toward us, their
speed seeming to increase as the bow waves rose
higher above the line of the horizon. Each foot,
I saw, ended in a kind of float And they were

Beanpole / 65
on a collision course with the Orion. If one of
them hit her and capsized her ... what chance
would we have, below decks, locked in a cabin?

At about twenty-Bve yards distance, the lead-
ing Tripod veered sharply left to cut across our
stem. The rest followed. There was a bowling
like a dozen different winds, running up and
down the scale. Then the first of the waves hit
the ship, and she tossed like a cork. We both fell
as the cabin heaved under us, and I banged my-
self painfully against the stanchion of the bunk.
I started to get up. and was flung toward the
open porthole as the Orion rolled. The sea came
up to meet me. A wave splashed in, drenching
both of us. And the howling was increasing
again as the Tripods came around in another
circuit of the ship.

They made three or four—1 was not in a mood
for keeping strict count—before continuing on
their way. Captain Curtis told us later that this
sort of encounter was not uncommon; the Orion
had had half a dozen previously. No one knew
why they did it—as a joke. perhaps. It was a joke
that could have a grim ending; quite a few
boats had foundered as a result. We were
merely soaked and shaken. I think I was more
shaken by their appearance than their actions.

Gff / The White Mountains

They dominated sea as weD as land. If I had
thought about it, I suppose I would have as-
sumed that But I had not, and the reality de-
pressed me.

Henry said to the captain. They didn't sound
like Tripods."

"Sound? I suppose you've only heard the Cap-
ping Call North of the Channel they see to the
Cappings. and that's about alL In the south you
will see more of them. and hear them. They
have all kinds of calls."

That was another thing. I had thought of
them in connection with the Cappings, and only
that What Ozymandias had said—about hunt-
ing men as men hunted foxes—had not really af-
fected me; my mind had rejected the idea as
fantasy. It did so no longer. I was depressed. I
was also quite a bit scared.

Captain Curtis took us off the Orion in much
the same manner as he had brought us on
board. He gave us food before we left. filling my
pack and providing Henry with another. He also
gave us last-minute advice.

"Keep under cover, avoid afl contact with the
people. They speak a different language, re-
member. You won't understand diem, and they

Beanpole / 67
won't understand you. If they pick you up, they
will hand you over for Capping."

He looked at us. lamplight catching deep
rusty gold among the blackness of his whiskers.
His was a hard face, until one got to know it

"It's happened before. With lads like your-
selves, heading for the mountains, or with lads
who have run away from someone like Rowley.
They've been taken by foreigners and Capped in
a foreign land. They all became Vagrants, and
bad ones at that Perhaps it's because the
machines are set for thoughts in that language.
and not being able to understand them cripples
you. Or perhaps they just go on until either they
get a response or break you—and you don't know
how to respond the way they want Anyway,
keep clear of people. Get out of this town fast,
and stay away from towns and villages after
that"

He brought the dinghy up to a careening
hard. Two or three boats lay on their sides on
the sloping roadway, but there was no sign of
life. One could hear distant noises—someone
hammering, voices faintly singing—but dose at
hand there were only the hulks of boats, hard-
edged in moonlight, the low line of the harbor
wall, and the roofs of the town beyond. A

OS/The White Mountain*

strange town, in a strange land, whose people
we could not. and must not, speak to. The
dingh/s keel grated on pebbles.

"Off you go," Captain Curtis whispered.
"Good luckT

The pebbles under our feet made a crunching
sound that was loud in the quiet night, and we
stood for a moment, listening. Nothing moved.
I looked back and saw the dinghy disappear be-
hind a larger boat. moored dose in. We were
on our own. I gestured to Henry, and set off up
the hard. One came out on the front. Captain
Curtis had said. turned left, walked a hundred
yards, and there was a road to the right Fol*
lowing it would take us out of town. A quarter
of an hour, and we could relax our vigilance, if
only slightly.

What we had, though, was something like a
quarter of a minute.

A road ran alongside the harbor wall and on
the far side of it there was a row of houses.
taller and seemingly narrower than those in
Rumney. As Henry and I moved across the en-
trance to the hard, a door opened across the
way. and a man came out Apparently seeing us.
he yelled. We ran, and be ran after us, and oth-

Beanpote / 69
ers spilled out from the open door. I made per-
haps fifty yards along the front before I was
caught and held. The one who had grabbed me,
a big, wild-looking man whose breath smelled
unpleasant, shook me and demanded something:

at least. I could tell that he was asking a ques-
tion. I looked for Henry and saw that they had
caught him too. I wondered if Captain Curtis
had heard anything of the disturbance. Probably
not. and if he had there was nothing he could
do. He had plainly told us that

They dragged us across the road. The house
was a tavern, but not much like the taverns in
Rumney. We were in a small room full of to-
bacco smoke and smelling of liquor, but both
the tobacco and the liquor smelled differently.
There was a bar counter, and half a dozen mar-
ble-topped tables, with high-backed chairs. The
men stood around us, talking incomprehensibly
and making a lot of gestures with their hands. I
had a feeling they were disappointed about
something. At the back of the room there was a
staircase which turned on itself, leading both
upstairs and down. Someone was watching us
from the upper stairs, gazing over the heads
that surrounded us.

Although he was tad and had a face that

TO / The White Mountains
seemed old enough, he had not been Capped.
But the strildng thing about him was what he
wore on his face. Pieces of thin metal ran from
behind his ears to hold a frame with a couple of
round pieces of glass, one in front of each eye.
One of them was somewhat larger than the
other, giving him a peculiar cockeyed look. Even
in our present predicament I thought him funny.
He looked odd enough, in fact. to be a Vagrant,
though that was impossible since he was not yet
Capped. It dawned on me that the apparent old-
ness of his face was the result of this contraption
he wore. His features behind it were thin. He
was a lot taller than I, but he could weU be
younger.

But I did not have much opportunity for
speculation. After some minutes of badgering us
in their strange language, the men plainly
reached a conclusion. Three was shrugging and
a waggling of hands, and we were shoved to-
ward the stairs. They took us down and pushed
us through a door at the bottom. I fell sprawl-
ing from a blow, and heard a key turn in the
lock behind us.

For half an hour or so we heard sounds of
people moving about over our heads and a low
grumble of voices. Then there were noises of

Beanpole / 71
departure, and through the small, vertically
barred window, high in one wall, we saw legs
outlined against the moonlight as those who had
been drinking went home. No one came down
to us. We heard bolts slammed, the stamping of
a last pair of feet—that would be the landlord—
and after that nothing but a distant scratching
that was probably a rat

The most likely thing was that we were be-
ing held for a Capping. I was scared again,
realizing how close this might be—it could be
tomorrow, even—and for the first time, it
seemed, envisaging the lonely, mad life ahead.
There would not even be Henry, because Va-
grants wandered apart, each cloaked in his own
wild dreams and fancies.

Henry said, "I wonder .. .*

Hearing his voice was a small relief. I said.
"What?"

"The window. If I gave you a leg up .,."

I did not believe they would have imprisoned
us in a place we could break out of so easily, but
it was something to do. Henry knelt by the wall,
and I stood on his shoulders in my stocking
feet. There was a twinge of pain in my ankle,
but I disregarded it. He raised up slowly, while
I kept my hands against the wall and reached

7A / The White Mountains

for the window bars. I got hold at last, first of
one and then another. I heaved and pushed, but
they were firmly bedded in stone, top and bot-
tom.

Henry shifted under me, and I called down,
"It's no good."

*Try again. If you—**

He broke off, and I heard what he had heard:

the scrape of a key against the sides of the lock.
I jumped down and stood watching the darker
rectangle of the door. Slowly it creaked open.
There was light beyond, a lamp held up, and
tile light gleamed on small circles of glass. It
was the boy who had watched us from the stairs.

Then he spoke and, to my great astonish-
ment, in English.

"Do not make a noise.** he said. T wfll help
you.*

Silently we followed him up the stairs, the old
timbers creaking under us, and across the bar-
room. He drew the bolts very carefully, but they
sounded hideously loud. At last the door was
open.

I whispered. Thank you. We .. .*"
He thrust his head forward, the contraption
on his nose looking even more ludicrous, and

Beanpole / 73
said, "You wish to go to the boat? I can still
help"

"Not to a boat. South."

"South? From the town, into land? Not to the
sea?"

"Yes," I said, "inland "

"I can help there also." He blew out the lamp
and set it down inside the door. "I will show
you."

The moonlight was still bright on the water-
front and the gently bobbing masts of the boats
in the harbor, but in places the stars were hid-
den by cloud, and a breeze was getting up from
tile sea. He started along the way Captain Cur-
tis had said, but before long led us into an alley.
We went up steps, and the alley twisted and
turned. It was so narrow that moonlight did not
penetrate; there was barely enough light to see
our way.

Later there was a road, then another alley,
and a road again. The road widened, houses
thinned on either side, and at last we reached a
place where there was a bright meadow, dotted
with the dark shapes of cows. He stopped be-
side a grassy bank.

This goes south," be said.

74 / T^e White Mountains

I said, "Will you get into trouble? Will they
blow it was you that let us out?"

He shrugged, his head bobbing. "It docs not
matter." He said it like "mat-air." "Will you tell
me why you wish to go into land?" He corrected
himself: "Inland?"

I hesitated only for a moment. "We have
heard of a place, in the south, where there are
no Cappings and no Tripods."

"Cappings?" he repeated. Tripods?" He
touched his head and said a word in his own
language. "The great ones, with three legs—
they are Tripods? A place without them? Is it
possible? Everyone puts on—the Cap?—and the
Tripods go everywhere."
"Perhaps not in the mountains."
He nodded. "And there are mountains in the
south. Where one could hide, if no more. Is that
where you go? Is it possible that I can come?"

I looked at Henry, but it scarcely needed con-
firmation. Someone whom we already knew to
be resourceful, who knew the country and the
language. It was almost too good to be true.

"Can you come as you are?" I asked him. "Go-
ing back would be risky."

*1 am ready now." He put a hand out, first to
me and then to Henry. "My name—1 am Zhan-
pole"

Beanpole / 75

He looked odd and solemn standing there,
tall and thin, with that strange metal-and-glass
thing on his face. Henry laughed.

"More like Beanpolel"

He stared at Henry inquiringly for a moment
Then he laughed too.

5

The City
of the
Ancients

We tramped through the night, covering ten or
twelve miles before, with the summer dawn edg-
ing over the horizon, we broke off to rest and
eat. While we rested. Beanpole told us the rea-
son for the men rushing out from the tavern to
catch us the previous night: some of the local
boys had been damaging the boats on the shore,
and the sailors thought we were the culprits. A
stroke of bad luck. although it had turned out

The City of the Ancients / 77
well. He told us something about himself, also.
His parents had died when he was a baby, and
his uncle and aunt owned the tavern. They
seemed to have looked after him all right, but in
a distant way, with not much affection or, at any
rate, not much shown. I got the impression that
they may even have been a little scared of him.
This is not as silly as it sounds, because there
was one thing that stood out about him: he had
quite a tremendous brain.

His speaking English, for instance: he had
found an old book giving instructions in the
language and taught himself. And the contrap-
tion on his face. His eyesight was poor, and he
had worked it out that since mariners^ telescopes
helped sailors to see at a distance, a glass in
front of each eye might enable him to see more
clearly. He had messed about with lenses until
he found some that did. There were other things
he had tried, with less success, but you could
see how they might have worked. He had no-
ticed that hot air rises, and had filled a pi^s
bladder with steam from a kettle and seen it go
up to the ceiling. So he had tried making what
he called a balloon out of oilskin and fixed it to
a platform with a brazier under the opening,
hoping it would rise into the sky; but nothing

78 / The Write Mountain*

happened. Another idea that had not worked
out had been for putting springs on the ends of
stilts—he had broken a leg the previous year
trying that one out

Lately he had been more and more uneasy
about the prospect of being Capped, rightly
guessing that it would put an end to his inventing
things. I realized that it was not just Jack, and
myself, and Henry, who had doubts about Cap-
ping. Probably all, or almost all, boys did. but
they did not talk about them because Capping
was a subject not to be discussed. Beanpole said
his balloon idea had come from this: he had seen
himself drifting through the sly to strange lands,
perhaps somewhere finding one where Acre
were no Tripods. He had been interested in us
because he had guessed we came from north of
the sea, and there were stories that the Tripods
were fewer there*

We came to a crossroads not long after re-
starting our journey, and I was once more made
aware of our luck in finding him. I would have
taken the road south, but he chose west

"Because of the . . ."—what he said sounded
like Shmand-Fair—"! do not know your nprnf of
if

•What Is it?" Henry asked.

The City <ff the Ancients / 79
"*It is too hard to explain. I think. You will
see.*

The Shmand-Fair started inside a town, but
we skirted it and reached a small hill, topped
with ruins, on the southern edge. Looking down,
we could see a track made of two parallel
straight lines, gleaming in the sunshine, which
ran from the town and disappeared in the far
distance. The town end had an open space.
where half a dozen objects looking like great
boxes on wheels were linked together. As we
watched, a dozen horses were harnessed in pairs
and yoked to the nearest of the boxes. A man
was mounted on the lead pair, and another on
the second pair from the box. At a signal, the
horses strained forward and the boxes began to
move, slowly and then faster. When they were
going quite fast, the eight horses in front broke
tree and galloped obliquely away. The remain-
ing four continued pulling the boxes on and past
our vantage point. There were five boxes al-
together. The two in front had openings in their
sides, and we could see people sitting in them;

the rest were closed.

Beanpole explained that twelve horses were
needed to start the wheels rolling along the

So / The White Mountains
lines, but once they were moving four were
enough. The Shmand-Fair took goods and peo-
ple south for a long way—more than a hundred
miles, it was said. It would save us a lot of
walking. I agreed, but asked how we were go-
ing to get aboard, since the horses had been go-
ing at full tilt when it passed us. He had an an-
swer for that. too. Although the ground on
which the lines were laid looked level, there
were parts with slopes up or down. On the down
slopes the horseman could brake the wheels o(
the boxes. In the case of up gradients, the horses
had to pull against the drag, which sometimes
reduced them almost to walking pace before
they reached the top.

We followed the now empty lines away from
the town. They were of iron, their tops polished
to brightness by the wheels, and were fastened
on massive planks, whose surface showed in
places through a covering of earth. It was a
clever means of travel, but Beanpole was not
satisfied with it

"Steam," he said, musing. *"It rises. Also it
pushes. You have seen the lid pushed up from
the saucepan? If one made a lot of steam—like a
very big kettle—and pushed the carriages from
behind? But, no. That is impossiblel"

The City of the Ancients / 81

We laughed, agreeing. Henry said, "It would
be like lifting yourself by pulling on the laces of
your shoes.**

Beanpole shook his head. There is a way, I
am sure."

Finding the best place for getting on the
Shmand-Fair proved easier than I had expected.
The gradient was scarcely noticeable, but the
crest of the rise was marked by a wooden post
with arms on either side pointing down. There
were bushes nearby, which provided cover. We
had a wait of half an hour before the next one
came in sight, but that was going the wrong
way. (I wondered about there being only the
one set of tracks, and found later that there were
places where the tracks were doubled so that
two could pass.) Eventually the right one ap-
peared; we saw the horses drop from gallop to
canter, and at last to a straining, heaving walk.
When the carriages with people had passed, we
darted out and swung aboard that one at the
end. Beanpole led the way, clambering up the
side and onto the flat top. No sooner had Henry
and X followed suit than the Shmand-Fair
ground to a halt.

I thought perhaps our extra weight had

8a / The White Mountains

stopped it, but Beanpole shook his head. He
whispered back. They have reached the top.
The horses rest and are given water. Then they
go on."

And after a five-minute break, they did.
quickly gathering speed. There was a bar along
the top to hold, and the motion was not un-
pleasant—better than traveling in a carriage on
an ordinary road where one hit boulders and
potholes all the time. Henry and I looked out
at the landscape as it flashed past Beanpole
stared at the sky. I suspected he was still ponder-
ing his idea o£ using steam instead of horses. It
was a pity, I thought, that with so many ideas
in his head he could not leam to tell the dif-
ference between sensible and ridiculous ones.

From time to time there were halts in villages,
and people got on and off and goods were
loaded and unloaded. We lay flat and kept
silent, hoping no one would come up on top.
Once a large millstone was unloaded, with a lot
of panting and cursing, from directly beneath
us, and I recalled what difficulty my father had
found in getting a new millstone up to Wher-
ton. There was a raised bank, not far from the
village, which ran straight for miles, and it
occurred to me that Shmand-Fair could be built

The City of the Ancients / 83
along that Or perhaps had been built, long ago,
before the Tripods? The thought^ like so many
others recently, was startling.

Twice we saw Tripods in the distance. It
struck me that. being more numerous in this
country, they must do a great deal of damage
to crops. Not only crops. Beanpole said. Animals
were often killed by the great metal feet; and
people, too, if they were not quick enough to
get out of the way. This, like everything else,
was taken for granted. But no longer by us;

having started asking questions, we found that
each doubt set loose a score of others.

Toward evening, during a halt to refresh the
horses, we saw a town in the distance. It looked
bigger than the town from-which the Shmand-
Fair had started, and Beanpole thought it might
be the place where it ended. It seemed a good
opportunity to take our leave, and we did so
when the horses began to move again to the
cries of the horseman. We slipped off as the
Shmand-Fair gathered speed, and watched the
carriages roll away. We had been traveling al-
most continuously southeast for a distance of
anything from fifty to a hundred miles. Less
than a hundred, though, or we ought to have
seen what was shown as a landmark on the map:

84 / The White Mountains

the ruins of one of the great-cities of the ancients.

The thing to do, we agreed, was head south.

We traveled on while the light held. It was
warm still, but clouds had come up. We looked
for shelter before darkness halted us, but could
find nothing, and settled at last for a dry ditch.
Fortunately it did not rain during the night
In the morning clouds still threatened, but no
more than that, and we had a snack of bread
and cheese and continued on our way. We went
up a rise, beside a wood, which would offer
cover if there were a risk of being seen. Henry
reached the top first and stood there, stock-still
and staring ahead. I quickened my step, anxious
to see what he was gazing at When I reached
him, I too stopped in wonder.

It was the ruins of the great-city which lay
ahead of us, a mile or two distant I had never
seen anything remotely like it before. It stretched
for miles, rising in hills and valleys. The forest
had invaded it—there was the tossing green of
trees everywhere—but everywhere also were
the gray and white and yellow bones of build-
ings. The trees followed lines among them, like
veins in some monstrous creature.

We stood in silence until Beanpole murmured,
"My people built that"

The City of the Ancients / 85

Henry said, "How many lived there, do you
think? Thousands? Hundreds? Hundreds or
thousands? More, even?"

I said. "We shall have to go a long way
around. I can see no end."

"Around?" Beanpole asked. "But why? Why
not through?"

I remembered Jack and his story of the huge
ship in the harbor of the great-city south of
Winchester. It had not occurred to either of us
that he might have done more than gaze from
a distance; no one ever approached the great-
cities. But that was the way of thinking that
came from Tripods, and the Caps. Beanpole's
suggestion was frightening, and then exciting.

Henry said in a low voice, **Do you think we
could get through?**

"We can try," Beanpole said. "If it is too diffi-
cult, we can return."

The nature of the veins became dear as we
approached. The trees followed the old streets,
sprouting out of the black stone of which they
had been built, and thrusting their tops up above
the canyons formed by the buildings on either
side. We walked in their dark cool shade, at
first in silence. I did not know about the others.
but I needed all the courage I could summon up.

86 / The White Mountains

Birds sang above our heads, emphasizing the
quietness and gloom of the depths through
which we made our way. Only gradually did we
start talcing an interest in our surroundings, and
talking—at the beginning in whispers and then
more naturally.

There were strange things to be seen. Signs
of death, of course—the white gleam o£ bone
that had once borne flesh. We had expected
that. But one of the Brst skeletons we saw was
slumped inside a rusted oblong, humped in the
middle, which rested on metal wheels rimmed
with a hard black substance. There were other
similar contraptions, and Beanpole stooped by
one and peered inside. He said, "Places for men
to sit. And wheels. So, a carriage of some nature."

Henry said, "It can't be. There's nowhere to
harness the horse. Unless the shafts have rusted
away."

"No." Beanpole said. They are all the same.
Look."

I said. "Perhaps they were huts, for people to
rest in when they were tired of walking."

"With wheels?" Beanpole asked. "No. They
were carriages without horses. I am sure."

"Pushed by one of your big kettles, maybel"
Henry said.

The City of the Ancients / 87

Beanpole stared at it He said, quite seriously,
"Perhaps you are right"

Some of the buildings had fallen down. from
age and weathering, and in places many—whole
rows sometimes—had been flattened, crushed, it
seemed, by a hammer from the sky. But a great
number were more or less intact, and eventually
we ventured inside one. It had been a shop,
plainly, but of enormous size. There were metal
cans everywhere, some still piled on shelves, but
most of them scattered on the floor. I picked one
up. It had paper around it, with a faded picture
of plums. Other cans had pictures, too—fruit,
vegetables, bowls of soup. They had held food.
It was reasonable enough: with so many people
living together, and no land-to till, food would
have to be brought to them in containers, just
as my mother bottled things in summer for win-
ter use. The cans had rusted, in some places
right through, showing a dried-up indistinguish-
able mess inside.

There were thousands of shops, and we looked
in many of them. Their contents amazed us.
Great bolts of mildewed cloth, still showing
weird colors and patterns . . . row on row of
crumbling cardboard boxes, full of rotting
leather shoes . . . musical instruments, a few

$8 / The White Mountains
familiar but most incredibly weird ... figures of
women, made from a strange hard substance,
clothed in the tattered remnants of dresses.. ..
And a place full of bottles, which Beanpole told
us was wine. He broke the top off one, and we
tasted it but pulled faces at the sourness; it had
gone bad long ago. We picked up some things
and took them with us: a knife; a small ax with
an edge that was rusted but could be sharpened;

a kind of flask made of a translucent blue ma-
terial. very light in weight, which would cany
water better than the flasks Henry and I had
got from Captain Curtis; candles—things like

that

But the shop that filled me with awe was
quite small. It was tucked away between two
much bigger ones. and as well as the usual
broken glass it had a barrier of warped and
rusted metal in front of it When I looked in, it
was like Aladdin's cave. There were gold rings,
set with diamonds and other stones, brooches,
necklaces, bangles. And perhaps a score of
Watches!

I picked one out It was gold, too, and had a
heavy gold bracelet which expanded when I
put my fingers inside and spread them; in this
way it could be made large enough to go over

The City of the Ancients / 89
your hand and would then lie snugly on your
wrist Or on a wrist thicker than mine. It was
loose when I put it on, so I pushed it higher up
my arm. It would not go, of course, but it was a
Watch. The other two were exploring on the
other side of the street. I thought of calling them
and then decided against it

It was not just that I did not want them to
have a Watch like mine. though that was part of
it There was also the memory of my struggle
with Henry over my father's Watch, when Jack
had helped me to get it from him. And this, I
think, was sparked by something less definite, a
feeling of discontent. My dislike for Henry had
been thrust into the background by the difficul-
ties and dangers which we encountered together
and shared. When Beanpole joined us. I had
talked to him more. and he had responded;

Henry, to some extent, had been left out of
things. I had realized this and, I am afraid, been
complacent about it

Today, though, particularly since we had come
into the great-city, I had become aware of a
change. It was nothing clear-cut; just that Henry
talked more to Beanpole, that Beanpole directed
more of his own remarks to Henry—that there
bad been a shift, in fact, from its being a matter

80 / The White Mountains

of Beanpole and myself, with Henry a little bit
out of things, to a situation in which I was, to
some extent, the excluded one. So it had hap-
pened that I had found this shop. with the
jewels and the Watches, having left them dis-
cussing a strange machine they had found which
had tour rows of small white disks with letters
on. at the front I looked at the Watch again. No,
I was not going to call them.

Eventually we more or less gave up looking in
the shops. In part, this was because our curiosity
was sated, but more because we had been sev-
eral hours in the city with no sign of approaching
the other side. The reverse, in fact At one
point, where devastation had left a great
mound of rubble, we climbed up through the
bushes and grass that covered it and found
ourselves looking down on the waving green
and crumbling stone. It stretched about us,
seemingly endless, like a sea ribbed with reefs
o£ rock. Without the compass we would have
been lost, for the day had clouded and there
was no sun to give us direction. As it was, we
knew we were stfll heading south, and die day
was less than half run, but we felt the need to
push on faster than we had been doing so far.

We came to wider streets, flanked by huger

The CUy of the Ancients / 91
buildings, that ran broad and straight tor im-
mense distances. We stopped to eat where sev-
eral of these met; there was a place where the
trees had not found a purchase, and we sat
chewing OUT meat and the hard biscuits Captain
Curtis had given us—our bread was all gone-
on mossy stone. Afterward we rested, but Bean-
pole got up after a while and wandered off.
Henry followed him. I lay flat, looking up at the
gray sky, and did not answer at first when they
called me. But Beanpole called again and
sounded excited. They seemed to have found
something interesting.

It was a great hole, surrounded on three sides
by rusted rails, with steps leading down into
the darkness. At the top, opposite the entrance,
there was a metal plate which said METRO.

Beanpole said. "The steps—they are so wide
that ten people can go side by side. Where do
they lead?"

I said, "Does it matter? If we aren't resting
we'd better be getting on."

Tf I could see ..." Beanpole said. "Why was
such a thing built, so great a tunnel?*

"Who cares?" I shrugged. "You wouldn't see
anything down there."

"We've got candles." Henry said.

92 / The White Mountains

I said angrily, *'We haven't got time. We
don't want to have to spend a night here."

They ignored me. Henry said to Beanpole,
"We could go a bit of the way down and see
what there is.** Beanpole nodded,

I said. "It's stupidi"

Henry said, "You don't need to come if you
don't want to. You can stay here and rest"

He said it indifferently, already rummaging in
his pack for the candles. They would have to be
lit, and I was the only one with a tinderbox. But
they were determined, I realized, and I might
as well give in with as good a grace as I could
manage.

I said, "ni come with you. I still think it's
pointless, though."*

The stairs descended first into a cavern, which
we explored as well as the meager light of the
candles permitted. Being less subject to the ele-
ments, things had deteriorated less here than in
the world above: there were queer machines,
showing patches of rust but otherwise undam-
aged, and a kind of box with glass in the win-
dows, intact

And there were tunnels leading off die cavern;

some, like the one by which we had entered,

The City of the Awfents / 93
with stairs going up, others leading still farther
down. Beanpole was all for exploring one of
these and got his way for want of opposition.
The steps went a very long way, and at the
bottom there was another small tunnel going to
the right Whatever slight interest I had had was
gone by now—all I wanted was to get back up
into the daylight. But I was not going to suggest
this. I had an idea, from the increasing lack of
enthusiasm in his replies to Beanpole's com-
ments, that Henry was no more keen than I was
on going farther—perhaps less. I derived a little
satisfaction from that, as least

Beanpole led the way along the small tunnel,
which twisted and ended in a gate of heavy iron
bars. It creaked as he pushed it open. We fol-
lowed him through and stared at what we could
now see.

It was yet another tunnel, but far bigger than
the others. We stood on level stone, and the
tunnel curved up over our heads and went on,
beyond the limits of our light What amazed us.
though, was the thing that stood there. I thought
at first it was a house, a long low narrow house
of glass and metal, and wondered who would
have chosen to live here. deep in the earth. Then
I saw that it stood in a wide ditch running along-

04 / The White Mountains

side our level, that there were wheels under It.
and that die wheels rested on long metal bars. It
was a kind of Shmand-Fair.

But to travel where? Could this tunnel run
for a hundred miles, as the track of the Shmand-
Fair had done—but underground? To a buried
city, perhaps, whose wonders were even greater
than those of the city above us. And how? We
walked along, and found that long carnage was
joined to long carriage—four, five, six, we
counted—and a little way past the last carriage
was die mouth of a smaller tunnel, and the
empty lines ran into it and were lost

The last carriage ended with windows looking
ahead. Inside, there was a seat, levers, instru"
ments. I said, "No place to attach the horses.
And who would have horses pulling under*
ground?"

Henry said, TThey must have used your steam
kettle."

Beanpole was staring in greedily at the strange
instruments.

"Or a thing much more wonderful," he said.

On the way back we looked inside the car-
riages; parts of their sides were open. so that
one could step into them. There were seats, but
a clutter of other things as well including heaps

The City of the Ancients / 55
of food cans, such as we had found in the shops,
but unrusted—the air down here was cool and
dry, as it must be all the time. Other things we
could not understand—a rack full of wooden
things ending in iron cylinders, for instance.
They had small half-hoops of iron on one side
with a little iron finger inside which moved when
you pressed it; but nothing happened.

"So they carried goods." Beanpole said. "And
people, since there are seats."

Henry said, "What are these?"

It was a wooden box, full of what looked like
large metal eggs—as big as goose eggs. He picked
one out and showed it to Beanpole. It was made
of iron. its surface grooved into squares, and
there was a ring at one end-Henry pulled it. and
it came away.

Beanpole said. "Can I look?"

Henry handed the egg to him, but clumsily.
It fell before Beanpole could grasp it, dropped
to the floor, and rolled. It went over the edge of
the floor and dropped into the ditch beneath.
Henry was going after it. but Beanpole caught
his arm.

"Leave ft. There are others."

He was bending down toward the box when
ft happened. There was a tremendous bang un-

Q6 / The White Mountains
der our feet, and the great steel carriage shud-
dered with the violence of it I had to dutch an
upright pillar to prevent myself being thrown to
the ground. Echoes of the bang reverberated
along the tunnel, like diminishing hammer blows.

Henry said shakily. "What was that?" But he
did not really need to be told.

Beanpole had dropped his candle, and it had
gone out He put it to Hem/s. to relight it I
said, "If it had not rolled down below the car-
riage ..."

There was no need to fill in details. Beanpole
said, "Like fireworks, but more powerful. What
would the ancients use such things for?"

He picked up another egg. Henry said, 1
wouldn't mess around with them."

I agreed, though I said nothing. Beanpole
handed Henry his candle so that he could look
at the egg more carefully.

Henry said, "If it goes off..."

They did not go off before." Beanpole said.
They were brought here. I do not think touch-
ing will do anything. The ring ..." He put his
finger into it. "You pulled it out, and it tell, and
then. a little later ,. .*'

Before I properly understood what he was
doing, he wrenched the ring from the egg. We

The City of the Anctents / 97
both cried out, but he ignored us, walked to
the opening, and threw the egg under the car-
riage.

This time, together with the explosion, there
was a shattering of glass, and a gust of air blew
out my candle. I said angrily. That was a stupid
thing to dot"*

The floor protects us." Beanpole said. "It is
not much risk, I think."

"We could have been cut by flying glass."

"I do not think so."

The point was, as I ought to have realized
earlier. Beanpole was only sensible as long as
his curiosity was not deeply roused; when some-
tiling interested him he had no thought for
hazards.

Henry said, I wouldn't do it again, afl the
same."

He obviously shared my feelings about the
experiment

Beanpole said, "It is not necessary. We know
how it works. I counted seven after the ring
came out"

It was nice to feel I was part of the maJority
again, even though the other part was Henry. I
said. "AB right—so you know how it works. What
good does that do?"

$8 / The WAite Mounfariru

Beanpole did not reply. He had found himself
a pack in one of the shops—the leather was
green and moldy but cleaned up fairly well—
and he was now taking eggs from the box and
putting them inside.

I said. Tou're not taking those with you, are
you?"

He nodded. "They will be useful, perhaps."

"For what?"

"I do not know. But something."

I said flatly, "You can't It's not safe for us,
either."

There is no danger unless the ring is pulled."

He had put four in his pack. I looked toward
Henry, to back me up. But he said, "I suppose
they might come in handy." He picked one up
and hefted it in his hand. They re heavy. I
think I'll take a couple, though."

I did not know whether he was saying this
because he really meant it or to spite me. It did
not make much difference, I thought bitterly. I
was back in the minority again.

We made our way up through the tunnels,
and I was very glad to see the sky, even though
it was a still darker gray, with clouds lower and
more menacing. Not long atterward our way

The City of the Ancients / 99
was barred by a river, running clear and swift
between high banks. There had been many
great bridges spanning it, but those we could
see had been partly or altogether destroyed; the
one directly before us was marked only by
half a dozen piles of rubble with the water
boiling round them. With nothing to choose
between the alternatives, we followed the river
to the east

Four bridges proved hopeless, and then Ac
river forked. It seemed to me this meant that it
we continued toward the east, we should have
to find bridges intact over both branches,
doubling the difficulty, and that our best course
was to go back and try in the opposite direction.
But Henry was opposed to turning back, and
Beanpole supported him. There was nothing I
could do but tag along resentfully.

My resentment was not diminished by the
fact that the very next bridge was intact enough
to cross, though the parapet had completely
gone at one side, and in the middle the bridge
itself had a hole bitten out of the edge which
we had to skirt warily. On the far side Aero
were relatively few trees, and the buildings were
massive. Then we came to an open space and
saw at the end of it a building which, even in

loo/The White MmmtaSM

ruins, had a magnificence that compelled the

eye.

There had been twin towers in front, but one
of these had been sliced down the side. On them,
and on the whole facade, were carvings in stone.
and from roofs and angles stone figures of mon-
strous animals probed the quiet air. It was a
cathedral, I guessed, and it looked bigger even
than the great cathedral in Winchester, which I
had always believed was the biggest building in
the world. The huge wooden door stood open,
tilted on its hinges and rotting. Part of the roof
of the nave had fallen in. and one could see up
past the pillars and buttresses to the sly. We
did not go inside; I think none of us wanted to
disturb its crumbling silence.

The next thing we discovered was that we had
not. in fact, crossed to the opposite bank of the
river, but were on an island: the waters which
had divided to the west came together again in
the east We had to trail back across the bridge.
I was not sony to see Henry discomfited, but I
was too tired to think it worth the extra effort.

It was at this time that Beanpole said to me,
"What is it on your arm?"

The Watch had slipped down, without my
noticing it, to my wrist I had to show it to

The City of the Anctenfs / 101
them. Henry looked at it with envy, though he
said nothing. Beanpole showed a more dispas-
sionate interest He said, "I have seen clocks, of
course, but cot one of these. How is it made to

gor

"You turn the button on the side, I said. "But
I did not bother to do that, since it must be so

old"

"But it is going."

Disbelievingly I looked myself. Above the
hour and minute hands a third, more slender
pointer was going around, sweeping the dial I
held the Watch to my ear: it was ticking. I
noticed a word on the face: "Automatique." It
seemed like magic, but could not be. It was
another wonder of the ancients.

We all stared at it. Beanpole said. These
trees-some are a hundred years old, I think.
And yet this device works. What craftsmen they
were."

We got across the river at last, half a mile
farther up. There was no sign of the city com-
ing to an end; its vastness which had first awed,
and then aroused wonder and curiosity, was now
exhausting. We passed many shops, including
one larger than the cathedral-a side had fallen

102 / The White Mountains
In and one could see that it was a shop, or a
series o£ shops, right up to the roof—but none of
us felt like bothering to investigate them. We
saw other tunnels, too. with METRO on them.
Beanpole decided they were most likely places
where people had got on and off the under-
ground Shmand-Fair. and I imagine he was
right

We slogged on. The day was declining, and
we were all weary. By the time we had our
evening meal—a limited one. because food was
beginning to run short and there was no way
here of getting more—it was plain that we would
have to spend the night in the city. I do not
think any of us was keen on going into one of the
buildings to sleep, but a distant howling changed
our minds for us. If there were a pack of wild
dogs near. it would be safer to get off the
streets. They did not usually attack people un-
less they were hungry; but we had no means of
knowing the state of their stomachs.

We picked a substantial-looking edifice and
went up to the first floor, stamping warily on the
stairs to see if they were likely to collapse.
Nothing happened, except that dust rose, chok-
ing us. We found a room with glass still in its
windows. The curtains and the upholstery of the

The City of tfie Ancients / 103
rumiture were faded and eaten in holes by
moths, but it was still comfortable. I found a
big earthenware jar with a heavy lid and roses
painted on it When I took the lid off it was full
of withered rose petals, their perfume a ghost or
summers long ago. There was a piano, larger
and differently shaped from any I had seen, and
a frame on it with a picture, in black and white,
of a lady. I wondered if it was she who had lived
here. She was very beautiful, though her hair
was different from the way women wear their
hair today, with wide dark eyes, and a gently
smiling mouth. In the night I awoke, and there
was the scent still in the air, and moonlight from
the window fell across the top of the piano. I
almost thought that I could .glimpse her there,
her slender white fingers moving across the keys

—that I could hear phantom music.

It was nonsense, of course, and when I fefl
asleep again I did not dream of her but of being
back in the village, in the den with Jack. in the
time when I had not learned to worry over Caps
and the Tripods, and when I had thought never
to travel farther from Wherton than Winchester

—and that no more than once a year.

The moonlight was misleading; in the mom-

104 f The White Mountains
tog, not only were the clouds back. chasing each
other in an endless pursuit of monotonous gray,
but a dreary deluge of rain was sheeting down
out of the sly. Even though we were anxious to
get clear of the city, we did not feel like tackling
these conditions. All that was left by way o(
food was a hunk of cheese, a piece of dried beef,
and some of the ship's biscuits. We divided the
cheese. That left one more meal; after that we
would have to go hungry.

Henry found a chess set. and he played a
couple of games with Beanpole* who won easily.
I then challenged him, and was also beaten.
Finally I played against Henry. I expected to
beat him, because I thought I had done better
against Beanpole, but I lost in about twenty
moves. I felt irritated, by this and the weather
and being still hungry, and refused his offer to
play again. I went and stood by one of the win-
dows and was glad to note that the sly was clear-
ing, the gray turning in patches into a luminous
yellow. Within a quarter of an hour the rain
had stopped and we could go on.

The avenues through which we traveled were
gloomy at first, the surface puddled with water
or, where trees had split it, of sodden earth, the
general wetness continually augmented by drips

The City of the Ancienta f 205
from the branches above. It was like walking
through rain in slow motion, and just as wetting;

it was not long before we were all thoroughly
soaked. Later, brightness filtered down as the
clouds lifted, and the birds seemed to make a
second wakening and filled the air with their
chatter and song. Drops still fell. but more
rarely, and in bare patches where the trees had
got a footing, the sun laid strokes of heat across.
Beanpole and Henry talked more, and more
cheerfully. My own spirits did not revive as
thoroughly. I felt tired and a bit shivery, and
my mind seemed thick and dull. I hoped I was
not getting a cold.

We ate the last of the food in a place where
the trees were thick in front .of us. unbroken by
buildings. The reason lay in the slabs of stone,
some upright but more leaning or fallen, which
stretched away into the darkness of the wood.
The words carved on the nearest one were:

CI-GIT
MABIANNE LOUISE
VAUDBICOUBT
13 ANS

D^CEDEE 15 PEVRIEB 1966
The first two words. Beanpole explained, meant

loG / The White Mountains
"here lies," ans was "years" and decedee was
"died." She had died at my own age, and been
buried here at a time when the city was still
throbbing with life. One day in the middle of
winter. So many people. The wood stretched
out. laced with the stones of the dead, across an
area in which my village could have been set
down several times over.

It was late afternoon when we came at last to
the southern edge of the city. The transforma-
tion was sudden. We pushed for about a hundred
yards through a stretch where the trees were
thick, the buildings few and completely in ruins,
and emerged into a wheatfield, waving green
spears in the slanting sunlight It was a relief to
be in the open again and in civilized land. With
that came awareness that we needed to resume
habits of caution: there was a horse plowing
several fields away, and In the distance two
Tripods stalked the horizon.

Clouds came up again as we traveled south.
We found a field of early potatoes, but could
find no wood dry enough to start a fire to cook
them. Henry and Beanpole ate them raw, but I
could not I had little appetite, anyway, and my
head was aching. At night we slept in a ruin

The City of the Anctente / 107
•well away from any other houses. The root had
fallen at one end. but was still supported at the
other; it was wavy and made of a gray material
that looked like stone but was much lighter. I
spent the night in a series of heavy sleeps, from
which I was awakened by nightmarish dreams,
and in the morning I felt more tired than I had
been the night before, I suppose I must have
looked funny, because Henry asked me if I was
feeling ill. I snapped something back at him, and
he shrugged and turned his attention to other
things. Beanpole said nothing, I think because
he noticed nothing. He was much less interested
in people than in ideas.

It was a weary day for me. I felt worse as the
hours went by. I was determined not to show
this. though. At the beginning I had not wanted
sympathy from the others because I resented the
fact that they appeared to be getting on with
each other better than I was with either. After I
had rebuffed Henry my resentment was beeaus*
neither he nor Beanpole took the matter any
further. I am afraid I got some satisfaction out
of feeling ill and carrying on without admitting
it It was a childish way to behave.

At any rate, my lack of appetite did not make
much impression because we were all on short

JOS / The White Mountains
rations. I was not bothering anyway, but Henry
and Beanpole found nothing. We had reached
the wide river, flowing southeast, which the map
told us we should follow, and Henry spent half
an hour at one place trying, without success, to
tickle trout up from under the bank. While he
did so, I lay gazing, stupefied, up at the cloudy
sty, grateful for the rest

Toward evening, after endless fields of young
wheat and rye, we came in sight of an orchard.
There were rows of cherry, plum, and apple.
The apples would be small and unripe still, but
even from a distance we could see golden and
purple plums and cherries black or red-and*
white against the green of leaves. The trouble
was that the farmhouse was right by the orchard
and would have a good view of anyone moving
among the long straight ranks of trees. Later, of
course, with the onset of darkness, it would be
different

Henry and Beanpole disagreed as to what we
should do. Henry wanted to stay, where there
was an assurance of some kind of food at least,
and wait for the chance to get at it; Beanpole
was for pressing on, hoping to find something
else, or something better, in the couple of hours*
light that remained. I got no pleasure, this time,

The City of Hie Ancients / 209
out of their opposition—I was feeling too heavy
and ill to bother. I supported Henry, but only
because I was desperate tor the rest Beanpole
gave in. as always with a good grace, and we
settled down to let the time pass.

When they tried to rouse me to go with them.
I paid no heed, being too sunk in lethargy and
general wretchedness, and eventually they left
me and went off on their own. I had no idea how
much later it was that they came back, but I
was aware of them trying to rouse me again,
offering me fruit and also cheese, which Bean-
pole had managed to steal from the dairy which
abutted on the farmhouse. I could not eat any-
thing—could not be bothered to try—and for the
first time they appreciated that I was ill and not
merely sulking. They whispered together, and
then they half lifted, half dragged me to my
feet and hauled me away. supporting me be-
tween them.

I learned later that there was an old shed at
the far end of the orchard which did not seem
to be in use. and they thought it best to get me
there: rain was threatening again and it did
rain during the night I was aware only of
stumbling and being pulled along, and at last
being allowed to collapse on an earth floor.

no / The White Mountains

There were sweating sleeps after that, and

more dreams, from one of which I emerged

shouting.

The next thing I realized with any clarity was
that a dog was growling nearby. Shortly after-
ward the door of the shed was flung open, and a
shaft of hot sunlight fell on my face, and I saw
the dark outline of a gaitered man against the
light It was followed by more confusion, by loud
voices in a strange tongue. I tried to struggle to
my feet, but fell back.

And the next thing after that, I was lying in
cool sheets, in a soft bed, and a grave, dark-eyed
girl, in a blue turbanlike cap, was bending over
me. I looked past her, in wonder, at my sur-
roundings: a high white ceiling, worked in
arabesques, walls of dark paneled wood, hang-
ings of thick crimson velvet around the bed. I
had never known such luxury.

6

The Castle
of the
Red Tower

Henry and Beanpole had realized, the morning
after my collapse, that I was not well enough to
travel. They could, of course, have left me and
gone on themselves. Failing that, they had a
choice either of dragging me farther away from
the farmhouse or of staying in the hut and
hoping not to be observed. As far as the first was
concerned, there was no other shelter in sight,
and although the rain had stopped, the weather

na / The White Mountains
was not promising. And the hut did not look as
though it was used much. Anyway, they decided
to stay where they were. In the early morning
they crept out and got more plums and cherries,
and returned to the hut to eat them.

The men with the dog came an hour or two
later. They were never sure whether this was by
accident, whether they had been seen earlier
and their return to the hut marked, or whether
Beanpole had left signs of his entry into the
dairy and. with the cheese missing, the men
were making a routine check of the outbuildings.
What mattered was that the men were at the
door, and a dog with them—an ugly brute, stand-
ing as high as a small donkey, its teeth bared in
a snarl. There was nothing they could do but
surrender.

Beanpole had previously worked out an emer-
gency plan for a situation such as this, to get
over the difficulty that neither I nor Henry spoke
his language. We were to be cousins of his and
both deaf-mutes—we were to say nothing, and
pretend we could hear nothing. This is what
happened—simply enough as far as I was con-
cerned since I was unconscious. It had been
Beanpole's idea that this would allay suspicion
so that, even if they kept us prisoner, they

The Castle of the Red Tower / 113
would not put too strong a guard on us. giving
us a better chance of escaping when opportunity
offered. I do not know it it would have worked—
certainly I was in no state to make an escape
from anything—but as it was, things took a very
different turn from anything we had envisioned.
It just so happened that, on that particular morn-
ing, the Comtesse de la Tour Rouge was making
a progress through the district and called with
her retinue at the farm.

Care of the sick and the distribution of lar-
gesse were customary with ladies of the nobility
and gentry. When Sir Geoffrey's wife, Lady May,
was alive, she used to do this around Wherton;

one of my earliest memories was of receiving
from her a big red apple and a sugar pig, and
touching my cap in reply. With the Comtesse.
though, as I grew to know, generosity and care
of others was not a matter of duty but sprang
from her own nature. She was a gentle and kind
person in herself, and suffering in another crea-
ture—human or animal—was a pain to her. The
fanner's wife had scalded her legs months be-
fore and was now quite recovered, but die Com-
tesse needed to reassure herself of that At the
farm she was told of the three boys who had
been caught hiding—two of them deaf-mutes

il4 / The White Mountains

and one of those in a fever. She took charge of

us all right away.

It was a sizable company. Nine or ten of her
ladies were with her, and three knights had
ridden out with them. There were also esquires
and grooms. Beanpole and Henry were put up in
front of grooms, but I was set on the saddlebow
of one of the knights, with his belt tied around
to keep me from slipping off. I remember nothing
of the journey, which is perhaps as welL It was
more than ten miles back to the castle, a good
deal of it over rough country.

The face bending over me when I awoke was
that of the Comtesse's daughter, Etoise.

The Chateau de la Tour Rouge stands on
high ground, overlooking a confluence of two
rivers. It is very ancient, but has had old parts
rebuilt and others added from time to time. The
tower itself is new, I fancy, because it is of a
strange red stone quite unlike the stones used
elsewhere in the building. In it are the state
rooms and the rooms of the family, where I was
put to bed.

The tower Is free-standing on the side that
looks down to the river and the plain, but other
buildings adjoin at the rear and on either side.
there are kitchens, stores, servants' Quarters,

The Castle of the Red Tower / 115
kennels, stables, forge—all the workaday places.
And the knights* quarters, which are well-kept
and decorated houses, though at this time only
three unmarried knights were living in them, the
rest having their own houses within easy reach
of the castle.

Part of the knights' quarters were given up to
the esquires. These were boys, the sons of
knights mostly, who were being trained to
knighthood, and Henry and Beanpole, by the
orders of the Comtesse, were put among them.
They quickly realized that there was no im-
mediate danger of being taken for Capping, and
decided to wait and see what happened.

For me, meanwhile, there was the confusion
of sickness and delirium. They told me later that
I was in a fever for four days. I was aware of
strange faces, particularly of the dark-eyed face
beneath the blue turban, which gradually be-
came familiar. My sleeps, by degrees, became
more restful, Ac world into which I awakened
less incoherent and distorted. Until I awoke,
reeling myself again, though weak, and the
Comtesse was sitting beside my bed. with Etoise
standing a little farther off.

The Comtesse smiled and said, "Are you bet-
ter now?^

A resolution I must keep... Of course. I must

li6 / The White Mountains
not talk. I was a deaf-mute. Like Henry. Where
was Henry? My eyes searched the room- At the
high window, curtains moved in a breeze. I
could hear voices from outside and the clang of

uon.

'Will," the Comtesse said. "you have been
very ill, but you are better now. You need only
to grow strong."

I must not talk . ,. And yet-she had called
me by my namel And was speaking to me in
English.

She smiled again. "We know the secret Your
friends are all right Henry, and Zhan-pole—
Beanpole, as you call him."

There was no point in going on pretending. I
said, "They told you?"

"In a fever it is not possible to control one's
tongue. You were determined not to talk, and
said so. aloud. In the English speech."

I turned my head away in shame. The Com-
tesse said. "It does not matter. Will, look at me."

Her voice, soft but strong, compelled me to
turn my head, and I saw her properly for the
first time. Her face was too long for her ever to
have been beautiful, but it had a gentleness
which was lovely, and her smile glowed. Her
hair curled round her shoulders, deep black but
touched with white, the silvery lines of the Cap

The Castle of the Red Tower / 117
showing above the high forehead. She had large
gray, honest eyes.
I asked, "Can I see them?"
"Of course you can. Eloise will tell them to
come."

They left the three of us alone. I said, *T gave
it away. I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."

Henry said: "You couldn't help it Are you all
right now?"

"Not bad. What are they going to do with
us?"

"Nothing, as far as I can see." He nodded at
Beanpole. "He knows more than I do."

Beanpole said, "They are not like the villagers
or townsmen. The villagers. Ending us. might
have called the Tripods, but these not They
think it good for boys to leave their homes.
Their own sons go tar away."

I suppose I was a little confused stiD. I said,
'Then they might help ust"

Beanpole shook his head, sunlight flashing
from the lenses in front of his eyes.

"No. After all, they are Capped. They have
diffsrent customs, but they obey the Tripods.
They are still slaves. They treat us kindly, but
they must not know our plans."

I said, with a new alarm, "If I talked .. • I

n8 / The White Mountain*

might have said something about the White

Mountains."

Beanpole shrugged. "If so, they have thought
it was a fever dream. They suspect nothing, be-
lieving only that we are wanderers, you two from
the land beyond the sea. Henry took the map
from the jacket We have it safe."

I had been thinking hard. I said. Then you'd
better make a break for it, while you can."

"No., It will be weeks before you are fit to
travel"

"But you two can get away. m follow when I
am able. I remember the map well enough."

Henry said to Beanpole, It might be a good
idea."

I felt a pang at that For me to suggest it was
noble self-sacrifice; having the proposal ac-
cepted without demur was less pleasant

Beanpole said. That is not good. If two go,
leaving the other, perhaps they will start to
wonder. They may come hunting for us. They
have horses and enjoy to hunt A. change from
deer or foxes, no?*

'What do you suggest, then?" Henry asked. I
could see he was not persuaded. "K we stay,
they'll Cap us eventually."

That is why staying is better for now," Beao-

The Castle of the Red Tower / 119
pole said. *T have been talking with some of the
boys. In a few weeks there is the tournament"

The tournament?" I asked.

It is held twice a year." Beanpole said, "in
spring and summer. They have feasts, games,
contests, and jousting between the knights. It
lasts five days, and at the end is their Capping
Day"

"And if we are still here then..." Henry said.

"We are offered for Capping. True. But we
will not be here. You will be strong by then,
Will. And during the time of the tournament
there is always much confusion. We can get
away and not be missed for a day. perhaps two
or three. Also, having more exciting things to
do here at the castle, I think they will not trouble
to hunt us anyway."

Henry said. "You mean, do nothing till then?*

This is sensible."

I saw that it was. It also relieved me from the
thought, more terrifying the more I contemplated
it, of being abandoned. I said, trying to make my
voice sound indifferent, "You two must decide.*

Henry said reluctantly, "I suppose it is the
best thing."

the boys came up to me from time to tune,

120 f The White Mountains
but I saw more of the Comtesse and Eloise. Oc-
casionally die Comte looked in. He was a bij^
ugly man, who had, I learned, a great reputa-
tion for bravery in tournaments and at the hunt
(Once, unhorsed, he had met a huge wild boar
face to face and killed it with his dagger.) With
me he was awkward but amiable, given to poor
jokes at which he laughed a lot He spoke a
little English, too, but badly, so that often I
could not understand him; mastery of other
tongues was regarded as an accomplishment bet-
ter suited to the ladies.

I had known very little about the nobility be-
fore this. At Wherton the people from the
Manor House kept to themselves not mixing
much with those from the village. Now I saw
them at close quarters and, lying in bed. had
time to think about them, and particularly about
their attitude toward the Tripods. As Beanpole
had suggested, it was not. in essence, different
from that of humbler people. Take, for instance,
their tolerance of boys running away from home.
This would not have been the case with villagers,
either here or at Wherton, but that was because
their lives were of another pattern; whereas the
sea captains at Rumney took to the notion weU
enough. To the nobility it was right that ladies

The Castle of the Red Tower / 121
should be gracious and accomplished in certain
tilings, and that men should be brave. There
were no wars, as there had once been, but there
were a number of ways in which courage could
be shown. And a boy who ran away from his
humdrum life, even though not noble, in their
view displayed spirit

The bitter thing was that all the spirit, all the
gallantry, was wasted. For, even more than their
inferiors, they accepted and looked forward
to being Capped. It was a part of becoming a
knight, or of turning from girl to lady. Thinking
of this, I saw how good things could be mean-
ingless in isolation. What value did courage have
without a free and challenging mind to direct it?

Eloise taught me how to speak their language.
It was easier than I expected; we bad plenty of
time at our disposal, and she was a patient
teacher. Pronouncing the words gave me the
most difficulty—1 had to learn to make sounds
in my nose and sometimes despaired of getting
them right Beanpole's real name, I learned, was
not Zhan-pole, but Jean-Paul, and even those
simple syllables took some mastering.

I was allowed up after a few days. My old
clothes had disappeared and I was given new
ones. These consisted of sandals, undergar-

iaa / The White Mountains
meats, a pair of shorts, and a shirt, but were of
much finer material than I had been used to
and were more colorful; the shorts were a creamy
color and the shirt, on that first day, was dark
red. I found to my surprise that they were taken
away each night for laundering and replaced by
fresh clothing.

Eloise and I wandered about the rooms and
grounds of the castle contentedly. At home I
had not mixed much with girls, and had been
ill at ease when I could not avoid their company,
but with her I felt no strain or awkwardness.
Her English, like her mother's, was very good,
but soon she insisted on speaking to me in her
own tongue. By this means I picked up things
quickly. She would point to the window, and I
would say "la fenfire," or beyond, and I would
say **fe del."

I was still supposed not to be weu enough to
|oin the other boys. If I had made a fuss. I
imagine I might have been permitted to do so,
but I accepted the situation readily enough. To
be docile at the moment improved our chance
of escaping later. And it seemed ungenerous to
rebuff Eloise's kindness. She was the only child
of the Comte and Comtesse remaining in the
castle, her two brothers being esquires at the

The Castle of the Red Tower / 123
house of a great duke in the south, and she did
not seem to have friends among the other girls.
I gathered she had been lonely.

There was another reason, too. It still rankled
that Henry should have displaced me with
Beanpole, and when I ran into them I had an
impression of a companionship, a complicity.
which I did not share. Their life, of course,
was quite different from mine. It is even pos-
sible they were a little jealous of the cosseting I
was getting. What was certain was that we had
little to talk about as far as our present ex-
istences were concerned and could not, for
safety, discuss the more important enterprise
which we did have in common.

So I willingly turned from them to Eloise.
She had, like her mother, a soothing gentleness.
Like her, she had a deep feeling for all living
creatures, from the people about her to the hens
that scratched in the dust outside the servants*
quarters. Her smile was her mother's, but that
was the only real physical likeness. For Eloise
was pretty, not only when she smiled but in the
stillness of repose. She had a small oval face,
with an ivory skin that could flush a strange
delicate color, and deep brown eyes.

I wondered about the color of her hair. She

124. / The White Mountains
always wore the same turbanlike cap, covering
her head completely. One day I asked her about
it. I put the question in my halting French, and
either she did not understand me or affected not
to; so I asked her bluntly, in English. She said
something then, but in her own language and
too fast for me to grasp the meaning.

We were standing in the small triangular
garden, formed by the castle's prow where it
jutted out toward the river. There was no one
else in sight, no sound except from the birds and
some of the esquires shouting as they rode across
the tilt yard behind us. I was irritated by her
evasiveness, and I made a grab, half playful, half
annoyed at the turban. It came away at my
touch. And Eloise stood before me, her head
covered by a short dark fuzz of hair, and by the
silver mesh of the Cap.

It was a possibility that had not occurred to
me. Being fairly small of stature, I had the habit
of assuming that anyone older than myself must
be taller, and she was an inch or two shorter than
I. Her features, too, were small and delicate. I
stared at her, dumfounded, blushing, as she was.
but Eery red rather than the faint flush of rose.

I realized from her reaction that I had done

The Castle of the Red Tower f 125
something outrageous, but I did not know how
outrageous. For girls, as I have said. Capping
was a part of the process of becoming a lady.
When she had recovered herself, and wound
the turban back on, Eloise explained something
of this, speaking in English so that I would be
sure to understand her fully. Here girls wore
turbans for the ceremony, and were returned
by the Tripods still wearing them. For six months
after that no one, not even the Comtesse. was
supposed to see Eloise's naked head. At the end
of that time, a special ball would be held in her
honor, and there, for the first time since the
Capping, she would show herself. And I had
torn the turban from her, as I would have pulled
off a boy's cap, fooling about in schooll

She spoke not in anger or reproach, but
patiently. She felt a great shame that I had seen
her head, but her real concern was for what
might have happened to me if the incident had
been seen by others. A severe flogging would
have been the first, but probably not the last, of
my punishments. It was said that a man had
been killed once tor such an offense.

My feelings, as I listened, were mixed. There
was some gratitude for her wanting to protect
me; but resentment, too, at being judged, even

ia6 / The Wrfte Mountain*
gently, by a code of conduct which meant
nothing to me. At Wherton the girls, like Ac
boys, had come back bareheaded from Capping.
My feelings about Eloise herself were also
jumbled and uncertain. I had traveled a long
road since leaving the village, not only in hard
reality but in my attitude toward people. More
and more I had come to see the Capped as lack-
ing what seemed to me the essence of humanity,
the vital spark of defiance against the rulers
of the world. And I had despised them for it-
despised even, for all their kindness to me and
their goodness, the Comte and Comtesse.

But not Eloise. I had thought her free, like
myself. I might even have come to the idea—its
beginnings, I think, were in my mind already—
that when we set off once more for the White
Mountains, there might not be three of us, but
four. All this was rendered futile by the sight of
her bare head. I had come to think of her as my
friend, perhaps more. But now I knew that she
belonged, irretrievably, body and soul, to the
Enemy.

The episode disturbed us both a great deaL
For Eloise there had been two blows—to her
modesty, and to her Idea of me. My snatching

The Castle of the Red Tower f 137
at her turban had shocked her. Even though she
knew it was done in ignorance, it was the mark.
in her eyes. of a barbarian; and a barbarian is
likely to be barbarous in all things. She was
uncertain of me.

With me, what had emerged was not uncer-
tainty but the reverse. Nothing could come of
my friendship with her: a hard black line had
been scored across it The only thing to do was
forget about it and concentrate on the important
thin^ which was getting to the White Moun-
tains. I saw Henry and Beanpole later that day
and suggested we should make a break at once:

I was sure I was strong enough to travel. But
Beanpole was insistent on waiting for the tourna-
ment, and this time Henry backed him up
wholeheartedly. I was angry and disappointed—
I had expected him to support me. It was the
alliance again, and again I was excluded. I left
them abruptly.

On the stairs I met the Comte, who grinned
at me. slapped me heavily on the back, and said
that I looked better but still needed fattening. I
must eat plenty of venison. There was nothing
like venison for building up the skinny ones. I
went on up to the parlor and found Eloise there,
her face golden in the lamplight She smiled at

ia8 / The White Mountains
me in welcome. Uncertainty could not affect her
constancy and loyalty; they were deeply en-
grained in her nature.

So we continued our companionship, though
there was a new wariness between us. Now that
I was stronger, we could range farther afield.
Horses were saddled for us, and we rode out of '
the castle gates and down the hill into meadows
thick with summer flowers. I knew how to ride.
after a fashion, and I soon became proficient, as
I was rapidly becoming in the language of this
country.

There were some days of cloud and rain, but
more of sunshine, in which we rode through a
warm scented land. or, dismounting, sat and
watched the river where the trout leaped, silver
out of silver. We visited houses of the knights,
and were given fruit drinks and little creamy
cakes by their ladies. In the evenings we would
sit in the Comtesse's parlor, talking to her or
listening to her while she sang to the accom-
paniment of a round long-necked instrument
whose strings she plucked. Often, while we were
there, the Comte would come in and stay with
us, for once quiet

The Comte and Comtesse made it plain that
they liked me. I think it was partly because of

The CasQe of the Red Tower / 129
their sons having gone away. This was the
custom, and it would not have occurred to them
to challenge it, but they grieved for their ab-
sence. There were other boys in the castle of
noble stock, but they lived in the knights*
quarters, joining the family only for supper,
which was served in the hall at a table where
thirty or forty dined at once. I. because I had
been ill and brought into the tower, had be-
come a part of the family as they had never
been.

But although I knew they were fond of me, a
conversation I had wtth the Comtesse one day
startled me. We were alone together, since Eloise
was having a dress fitted. The Comtesse was
embroidering a piece of cloth/and I was watch-
ing in fascination the way her fingers moved,
deftly and swiftly, making the tiny stitches. She
talked as she worked, her voice low and warm.
with a slight busldness that Eloise also had. She
asked about my health—1 told her I was very
well—and if I were happy at the castle. I assured
her that I was.

^ am glad of that.** she said. "Perhaps if you
are happy» you will not want to leave us."

It had been taken for granted that the three
of us would be presented at the Capping Day

130 / The White Mountains
following the tournament The assumption had
been that after that, the restlessness of our boy-
hood having departed, we would return to our
homes to take up the life that was expected of
us as adults. It puzzled me to hear the Com-
tesse speak of my not wanting to leave.

She went on: "Your friends. I think, would.
wish to go. Room could be found for them as
servants, but I fed they would be happier in
their own villages. For you, though, it is differ-
ent"

I looked from her hands to her face.

"How. my lady?*

"You are not noble, but nobility can be
granted. It lies in the gift of the king. and the
long is my cousin." She smiled. "You did not
know that? He owes me a debt for a whipping
I saved him when he was an un-Capped boy,
like you. There wfll be no difficulty about this,
Guillaume."

Guillaume was their way of saying my name.
She had told me that. but she had never used it.
to address me before. My head spinning a little.
Even though I had grown used to the castle and
the life that was lived here, it still did not seem
entirely real to me. And this talk of kings . , •
There was a king in England, too. who lived

The Castte of the Red Tower f 231
somewhere in the north. I had never seen him,
nor ever expected to.

She was telling me that I could stay—that she
wanted me to stay—not as a servant but as a
knight I could have servants of my own, and
horses, and armor made for me so that I could
ride in the tournaments, and a place in the
family of the Comte de la Tour Rouge. I looked
at her and knew that she was quite in earnest
I did not know what to say.

The Comtesse smiled and said. "We can talk
of this again, Guillaume. There is no hurry."

It is not easy to write about what followed.
My first reaction to what the Comtesse had
said was of being flattered but not impressed.
Was I to abandon my hope of freedom, surrender
the mastery of my mind, for the sake of wearing
Jeweled leather and having other men touch
their caps to me? The notion was absurd. What-
ever privileges I was given, I would still be a
sheep among sheep. In the morning, though,
waking early, I thought of it again. I rejected it
again, too. firmly but less quickly, and with a
reeling of being virtuous in doing so. To accept
would be to let down the others—Henry and
Beanpole, the vagrant Ozymandias, Captain

133 / The White Mountain*

Curtis, all the tree men in the White Mountains.

I would not do that. nothing would tempt me

toil

The insidious thing was that temptation
should have entered into it at alL From the
moment the idea ceased to be unthinkable. I
could not let it alone. Of course I was not going
to do it, but if... My mind ran on the possibili-
ties. despite myself. I had already learned
enough of the language to be able io talk. though
in an accent they smiled at, with others in the
castle. There was, it seemed, so much to look
forward to. After the tournament there would be
the Harvest Feast, and then the hunting. They
spoke of riding out on sharp mornings in fall.
with frost making the grass crackle round the
horses' legs, of the hounds baying along the
hillside, the chase and the kill, and jogging home
to blazing fires and meat carved from the spit
turning in the great hearth of the dining hall.
And later, the Christmas Feast, lasting twelve
days. when the jugglers and singers and strolling
players came. Then the spring, and hawking:

loosing the falcon to wheel up into the empty
blue and plunge down out of it like a bolt on her
prey. And so summer, and die tournaments
again, filling out the year.

The Castle of the Red Tower / 133

During this time, too, my attitude toward the
people around me was changing. In Wherton the
division between boy and man was drawn more
sharply than here. All adults there, even my
parents, had been strangers. I had respected
them, admired or feared them, even loved them,
but I had not known them as I was coming to
know those at the castle. And the better I knew
them. the harder it was to make a sweeping
condemnation. They were Capped, they ac-
cepted the Tripods and all they stood for. but
that did not prevent them from being, as I had
seen in the Comte and Comtesse and Eloise and
now saw in others, warm-hearted, generous, and
brave. And happy.

For that, it increasingly seemed to me, was
flie crux of it Before Capping there might be
doubts and uncertainties and revulsion; perhaps
these people had known them too. When the
Cap was put on, the doubts vanished. How great
a loss was that? Was it a loss at all? The Tripods.
apart from the act of Capping itself, did not
seem to interfere much with men. There had
been the incident at sea, when they had
threatened to swamp the Orion. Ships had been
sunk by them. Captain Curtis had said—but
bow many more bad been sunk by tempests or

234 / Th€ W^e Mountains
through striking rocks? Ozymandias had spoken
of men working in mines underground to get
metals for the Tripods, of the Tripods hunting
men, of human beings serving them in their
cities. But even if those things were true, they
must happen far away. None of it touched this
secure and pleasant life.

Again and again I returned to the most im-
portant consideration: loyalty to Henry and
Beanpole and the others. But even that, as the
days went by, proved less convincing. In an at-
tempt to reassure myself, I began to seek the
other two out I broached again the idea of our
escaping at once, but they turned it down flatly.
I had the impression that they did not much
want to talk to me and were impatient tor me to
leave them, I would go away, resenting their
coolness but perhaps also a little glad of it If
one is seeking reasons for disloyalty, it is useful
to find something one can resent.

And there was Efoise. We walked and rode
and talked together, and gradually the wariness
and constraint that had come between us after
the incident in the garden was overlaid and
buried by the daily commerce of our friendship:

we were at ease again, contented with each

The Castte of the Red Tower / 135
other's company. One day I took a boat, and
rowed upriver to an island we had seen, and
we picnicked there. It was a hot day, but cool in
the long grass under the shade of the trees, and
dragonflies and red and yellow butterflies
danced in the air above the tumbling water. I
had not spoken to her of what the Comtesse had
said, but she herself mentioned it. She took it for
granted that I would stay. and I felt a strange
shock of pleasure at that A future here. in this
rich lovely country, in the castle, with Eloise ., •

Providing the Capping was a success, I re-
minded myself. But why should it not be? Cap-
tain Curtis's warning belonged to the time when
this language had been meaningless gibberish to
me. Now. even though I was still far from speak-
ing it perfectly, I understood it Nor was I likely
to become a Vagrant through resisting, when
there was so much to gain by acquiescence.

I reminded myself of something else—of what
I had thought as I lay in bed recovering from
the fever. That nothing mattered, nothing was
of value, without a mind that challenged and in-
quired. The mood seemed far away, unreal. The
Tripods had conquered men when they were at
the height of their power and magnificence, cap-
able of building the great-cities, ships as big afi

136 / The White Mountains
a village, perhaps vaster wonders stOL H our
ancestors, with all their strength, had failed.
bow pitiful was the defiance of a handful of men
clinging to the slopes of barren mountains. And,
if there were no hope of defeating them, what
were the true alternatives? To live wretchedly,
like a hunted animal, suffering hardship and-
despair-or this life, with its fullness and secur-
ity and happiness?

Rowing back, I found the Watch slipping
down to my wrist, hampering my efforts. I had
thought at first that the Comtesse and others
might be curious about it and want to know
how a boy had come by such a possession; but
they had shown no interest at all in it They
kept no relics of the skill of the ancients and
time meant nothing to them. There was a sun-
dial in the courtyard, and that was enough.
Now, resting my oars. I took the Watch off,
pulling it over my hand. and, asking her to look
after it for me, tossed it to Eloise. But she was
no better at catching than any other girl, and it
fell over the side. I had one glimpse of it before
it vanished in the green depths. Eloise was dis-
tressed, and I comforted her, telling her not to
worry: it was no loss. Nor, at that moment, was
it

The CastU of the Ked Tower f 137

The time of the tournament was fast ap-
proaching. There was an air of excitement and
bustle. Great tents were set up in the meadows
below for those who could not be housed in the
castle itself. From morning till night the air rang
with the sound of armorers, the tilt yard with
cries as the mock jousts went on. I took a hand
myself, and I found I could hit the ring toler-
ably well, riding with my knees.

My mind still worried at the subject The
point of loyalty, for instance. Loyalty to whom?
The men in the White Mountains did not even
know of my existence—to Ozymandias and Cap-
tain Curtis I had been Just another boy to be
sent south, one of dozens. And Henry and Bean-
pole? Did they want me with them. anyway?
They did not give the impression of doing so.
Would they not rather be on their own?

The first morning it rained, but the sly
cleared for the afternoon and the preliminary
jousts took place. I saw Henry and Beanpole
afterward on the trampled field where servants
were picking up and clearing away the litter.
The castle walls and the hard finger of the tower
stood out against the setting sun.

Beanpole explained: early next morning was

138 / The White Mountains
the time to make a break, at dawn, before the
kitchen servants were awake. They had put food
aside in their packs. Mine had disappeared,
along with my old clothes, but it did not mat-
ter, Beanpole said, if I could not find it or any-
thing similar: they had enough for me as well.
I was to meet them below the castle gate at the
appointed time.

I shook my head. *Tm not coming."

Beanpole asked. "Why, Will?"

Henry said nothing, but stood with a smile on
his broad face, that I felt I hated at this moment
even more than I had at home in Wherton. His
thoughts, and contempt, were very plain.

I said, *'If you two go there is a chance you
will not be missed, things being confused as
they are. But I will be. They will notice that I
am not at breakfast and look for me."

Henry said. "True enough. Beanpole. The
Comte Is bound to miss his adopted son."

I had not realized that that suggestion had
leaked out, though I suppose it was inevitable
that it should. Beanpole stared at me, his eyes
showing nothing behind the lenses.

1 said. Til give you a day to get dear, two
perhaps. ITl follow. IT! try to catch up with you.
but don't wait tor me."

The Castle of the Rerf Tower / 139

Henry laughed. "We won't do thati*

I was telling myself that I had still not come
to a decision. It was true that it would be easier
for the others to get dear without me, and true
that I could follow on after—I knew the map by
heart. But true also that tomorrow, on the sec-
ond day, the Queen of the Tournament was
chosen by the assembled knights. And I was sure
the choice would fall on Eloise, not because she
was the Comte's only daughter, but because,
without doubt, she was the most beautiful who
would be there.

Beanpole said slowly, ''Very weu. Perhaps it
febest"

I said, "Good luck."

"And you." His head shook slightly. "Good
lock. Will"

I turned and walked up the hill to the castle.
I heard Henry say something whidi I did not
catch, but I did not look back.

7

The
Tripod

I awoke in the early dawn, and realized there
was still time to slip away and Join the others,
but I did not move from my bed. The window
of my room looked south, and I could see that
the sky was a deep dark blue—one bright star
stood out. I was glad that they would have good
weather for traveling, but glad also that it
looked as though it would be fine for the second
day of the tournament and the choosing of the

The Tripod f 141
Queen. I lay and stared at the sly until I drifted
back into sleep, to be wakened a second time by
the servant girl tapping on my door. The blue of
sly was pale now and brushed with gold.

There was no mention of Beanpole and Henry
—no one seemed to have missed them. It was
not surprising that this should be so: today the
tournament was in full swing, everyone was full
of excitement and high spirits, and after break-
fast we made our way down to the field and the
pavilions. Not Eloise. I had not seen her that
morning at all. She would come down with the
other ladies who offered themselves for the
knights' choosing. We took our places in the
pavilion, and while we waited a singer enter-
tained us with ballads. Then came the hush as
the ladies entered die ring.

There were eleven of them, and ten were
dressed in great finery, with dresses that had
much silver and gold thread and needed to be
held up behind by serving girls so that they
would not trail in the dust Their heads were
bare, their hair piled high and secured with
combs that flashed and dazzled in the sunlight
The eleventh was Eloise. She wore. of course,
the turban on her head, and her dress was sim-
ple-dark blue, trimmed with delicate white

2^2 / The White Mountains
lace. As youngest, she came last of them aD,
with no servant accompanying her. To a low
beat of drums the ladies walked across the field
to where the knights stood assembled in front of
the Comte's pavilion and, as the fanfare of trum-
pets sounded, remained there, their heads
bowed.

One by one they stepped forward. It was the
custom that as each did so, the knights who
chose her unsheathed their swords and raised
them. After the first two or three, there was no
doubt what the result would be. Out of the
thirty or forty knights, a couple saluted each
lady so that she would not be ashamed. This
happened with all the gorgeously appareled tea.
And so Eloise stepped forward, in her simple
dress, and the swords swept up like a forest o£
gold and silver in the sun, and first the knights
and then those watching shouted their acclama-
tion, and Z wanted to cry and laugh at the same
time.

She came forward, the other ladies following
and stood there, grave and brave in her dignity,
while her father, the Comte. carefully fitted the
crown over the turban on her head. And her
subjects filed past to kiss her hand, myself
among them.

The Tripod f 143

I did not see her to speak to for the rest of
that day. but I did not mind this. She had her
duty. to preside, to give prizes to the victors,
and for me there was excitement enough in the
tournament itself, in cheering on those I had
come to know. and in the whole atmosphere of
feasting and merrymaking.

There was only one chilling moment As the
second session of the day began, there was a
strange sound far away. which became louder.
It was a constant repetition on five notes, a
metallic clanging, and although I had not heard
this particular call, I knew it could only be a
Tripod. I looked in the direction from which it
was coming, but the castle stood in the way and
I could see nothing. I looked also at the people
around me and saw that none showed more than
a mild interest: the contest going on in the ring.
with four knights on each side. continued to
hold their attention. Even when the hemisphere
rocked round the outline of the castle, and the
Tripod came and stood towering over the field,
fts feet planted in the river, there was no sign
in others of the fear and uneasiness which shiv-
ered along my spine.

It was plain that this was not an unusual event,
that a Tripod always attended the tournament

144 / The White Mountains
and that the people found no cause for alarm in
it. Of course they were more accustomed to the
sight of the Tripods than we had been at Wher-
ton, where we only saw one on Capping Day.
Almost every day one saw them here singly or in
groups, striding across the valley. I had grown
used to the sight, too—at that distance. Being right
under its shadow was different. I looked up at it
fearfully. I noticed that around the sides of the
hemisphere and in the base were circles of what
looked like green-tinted glass. Did it see through
those? I supposed so. I had not noticed them
before, because at Wherton I had never dared
look at a Tripod closely. Nor did I for long now.
One of the circles had me directly in its view. I
dropped my eyes. to watch the tournament, but
my mind was not on it.

And yet, as time passed, my disquiet subsided.
The Tripod had made no sound since it took up
its position by the castle, and it did not move at
all. It was just there, presiding or watching or
merely standing up against the sky, and one
became inured to its presence, disregardful of
it After an hour I was cheering on a favorite of
mine, the Chevalier de Trouillon, with no
thought beyond the hope that. after two falls
on each side, he would win the final tilt He did,

The Tripod / 145
and his opponent rolled in the beaten and with-
ered grass, and like everyone else I cheered him
to the echo.

There was a feast that evening, as there would
be every night of the tournament; and since the
weather was fine, it was held in the courtyard.
The household of the Comte. and those knights
who had their ladies with them, were seated,
and food was brought to them; the rest served
themselves from the tables at the side, which
were laden with different kinds of fish and meat,
vegetables and fruit and sweet puddings, and
where tall jugs of wine stood. (Not a great deal
was drunk while we were there, but the knights
stayed on after the ladies had gone in to the
tower, and torches were lit and there was sing-
ing and some shouting, until very late.) I could
not count the number of dishes. It was not
merely the different kinds of meat and fowl and
fish, but the different ways each kind might be
prepared and sauced. They counted eating a
fine art in a way that I do not think even Sir
Geoffrey would have understood, and certainly
no one in Wherton itself.

I went in with the ladies, very full and happy.
The Tripod was still where it had been all after-
noon, but one saw it only as a dark shape

146 f The White Mountains
against the stars, something remote and almost
unimportant From the window of my room I
could not see it at all. There was the bright
shawl of the Milky Way, and the torches down
In the courtyard-nothing else. I heard a tap on
my door. and called "EntrezV I turned to see it
open, and Eloise slip in.

She was still wearing the blue gown trimmed
with lace, though she had put the crown aside.
Before I could speak, she said. "Will. I cannot
stay long. I managed to slip away, but they wffl
be looking for me."

I understood that As Queen of the Tourna-
ment, her position was special. While it lasted
there could be no pleasant talks, no wandering
away. I said. They chose well. I am glad,
Eloise."

She said, "I wanted to say good-bye. Will."

"It will not be for long. A few days. Then,
when I am Capped ..."

She shook her head. 1 shall not see you again.
Did you not know?"

"But I am to stay here. Your father told me
so. only this morning."

"You will stay, but not L Did no one teU
you?"

Tefl me what?"

The Tripod f 147

"When the tournament is over, the Queen
goes to serve the Tripods. It is always done."

I said stupidly. "Serve them where?"

"In their city."

"But for how long?"

"I have told you. Forever."

Her words shocked me, but the look on her
face was more shocking still. It was a kind of
rapt devotion, the expression of someone who
hugs in secret her heart's desire.

Dazed, I asked her, "Your parents know this?"

"Of course."

They had, as I knew. grieved over their sons,
lent away for a few years only to leam knight-
hood in another household, And this was their
daughter, whom they loved perhaps more dearly
stfll, and she was to go to the Tripods and never
return . . . and all day long I had seen them
happy and rejoicing. It was monstrous.

I burst out. "You must noti I won't let it hap-
pen." She smiled at me and gave a small shake
of the head, like an adult listening to a child's
wfld talk. "Come away with me," I said. "Well
go where there are no Tripods. Come away
nowl"

She said. "When you are Capped, you wifl
understand."

148 f The White Mountains

1 will not be Cappedl"

"You will understand." She drew a gasp of
breath. "I am so happy.** She came forward, took
my hands and, leaning forward, kissed me, a
peck of a kiss on the cheek. "So happyi" she re-
peated. She went back to the door, while I
stood there. **I must go now. Good-bye, WaL
Remember me. I will remember you."

And was gone. out of the door, her feet pat-
tering away down the corridor, before I could
come out of my trance. I went to the door then.
but the corridor was empty. I called, but there
was only my voice echoing back to me from
stone walls. I even took a few steps to follow
her, before I stopped. It was no good. Not only
because there would be other people there: be-
cause of Eloise herself. "I will remember you."
She had forgotten me already, in any sense that
truly mattered. All her mind was concentrated
on the Tripods. Her masters had called, and she
was going to them glady.

I went back into my room and undressed, and
tried to sleep. There were too many kinds of
horror. Horror at what had happened to Eloise.
Horror of the creatures who could do this sort
of thing to others. Horror, above aB, at how
closely I had come to falling—no, to throwing

The Tripod / 149
myself—into something beside which suicide
was clean and good. What had happened was
not Eloise's fault. She had accepted Capping as
the countless others had done, not understand-
ing and knowing no alternative. But I had un-
derstood, and had known better. I thought of
the blankness in Beanpole's face, the contempt
in Henry's, the last time I had seen them. and
was ashamed.

The noise of revelry in the courtyard had long
died away. I lay. tossing and turning, and saw
a softer, wider light than starlight coloring the
frame of the window. I halted my thoughts in
tfaeir futile round of self accusation and began
to make plans.

It was dark inside the house as I went quietly
down the stairs, but outside it was light enough
to see my way. There was no one about, nor
would there be for a couple of hours at least
Even the servants slept later during the days
of tournament. I made my way to the kitchens
and found one of them snoring under a table;

presumably he had been too drunk to go to his
bed. There was little danger of his waking up. I
had brought a pfflowslip from my bed, and I
piled remnants from die previous night's feast
into it: a couple of roast chickens, half a turkey,

ISO / The Wift» MountaSns

loaves of bread, cheese, and cold sausage. Then

I went to the stables.

There was more danger here. The grooms
slept on the other side of the horses' stalls, and
while they, too, would have drunk their fill, a
disturbance among the horses was likely to wake
them. The horse I wanted was the one I had
been accustomed to riding with Eloise, a chest-
nut gelding, only about fourteen hands high,
called Aristide. He was a somewhat nervous
beast, but he and I had grown to know each
other, and I relied on that He stood still, only
snorting a couple of times, while I freed him,
and came with me like a lamb. Fortunately there
was straw on the floor, muffling his hoofs. I
lifted his saddle from its place by the door, and
then we were clear.

I led him down and out of the gate of the
castle before saddling him. He whinnied, but I
fudged we were far enough away for it not to
matter. I tucked the top of the pillowslip under
his girth before tightening it, and prepared to
mount Before I did so, I looked about me. Be-
hind me lay the castle, dark and sleeping; be-
fore me the tournament field, the flaps of the
pavilions moving a little in a breeze of morning.
On my left... I had forgotten about the Tripod,

The Tripod / 151
or perhaps assumed that it would have moved
away during the night. But it was there, as far
as I could see in exactly the same spot. Dark
like the castle; and, like the castle, sleeping? It
looked as if it were, but I felt a tremor of un-
ease. Instead of mounting and riding down the
broad and easy slope. I led him along the
steeper and more difficult path which wound
down the side of the rock on which the castle
was built, and came out between the meadows
and tiie river. There a line of trees partly shielded
it from the view either of the castle or the metal
giant who stood sentinel among the rushing
waters of the river's other branch. Nothing had
happened. There was no sound but a water bird
that croaked nearby. I mounted Aristide at last,
pressed my heels into his flanks, and we were off.

It was true that, as I had said to Henry and
Beanpole, although they might get away and
their absence not be noticed for a day or two,
I would be missed much sooner. Even with the
tournament in progress, it was likely that a
search party would come after me. Because of
this, I had taken the horse. It meant I could put
as great a distance as possible between me and
any pursuit If they did not find me within
twenty miles of the castle, I felt that I was safe.

152 / The White Mountains

The horse also gave me a chance of catching
up with Henry and Beanpole. I knew roughly
the route they must take; they had a day's start
on me, but they were on foot. I was less likely
now, I thought, to be troubled by their being
better friends with each other than either was
with me. I was very conscious, in the gray light
of dawn, of being on my own.

The path led by the riverside for nearly a
mile to the ford, where I must cross to the other
bank. I had covered about halt of this when I
heard the sound. The dull clump of a great
weight striking the earth, and another, and an-
other. Automatically, even as I glanced back. I
was urging Aristide into a gallop. The sight
was plain, and horrible. The Tripod had up-
rooted itself from its post by the castle. It was
traveling, steadily and relentlessly, in my wake.

I remember almost nothing about the next
few minutes; partly because I was in such an
extremity of fear that I could not think straight
and partly, perhaps, because of what happened
after. The only thing that comes back clearly is
the most terrifying of all—the moment when I
felt a band of metal, cold but incredibly Heri-
ble, curl round my waist and lift me from Aris-
tidc's bade. There is a confused impression of

The Tripod / 153
rising through die air, feebly struggling, afraid
both of what was to happen and, if I did free
myself, of falling to the ground already dizzily
tar below me, looking up at the burnished cara-
pace, seeing the blackness of the open hole
which would swallow me. knowing fear as I had
never known it before, and screaming, scream-
ing ... and then blackness.

The sun pressed against my eyelids, warming,
turning darkness to a swimming pink. I opened
my eyes and had to shade them at once from its
glare. I was lying on my back, on the grass, and
the sun, I saw. was standing well above the
horizon. That would make it about six o'clock.
And it had not been four when ...

The Tripod.

The jolt of fear shook me as I remembered. I
did not want to search the sky, but knew I must
I saw blue emptiness, fringed by the wav-
ing green of trees. Nothing else. I scrambled to
my feet and stared into the distance. There was
the castle, and beside it, where it had stood yes-
terday, where I had seen it as I led Aristide out
of the gate, the Tripod. It was motionless, seem-
ing, like the castle itself, rooted in rock.

Fifty yards from me Aristide cropped die

154 / The White Mountains
dewy grass, with the placid contentment of a
horse in good pasture. I walked toward him, try-
ing to rum the jumble of my thoughts into some
kind of sense. Had it been imaginary, a night-
mare, dreamed as a result of a tall from the
horse? But the memory of being plucked up
through the air came back, sending a shudder
through me. I could not doubt that recollection:

it had happened—the fear and despair had been
real.

Then what? The Tripod had picked me up.
Could it be ... I put my hand up to my head
and felt hair and the hardness of my skuB, with
no mesh of metal. I had not been Capped. With
my relief at that came a quick wave of nausea
that made me pause and draw breath. I was
only a few yards from Aristide, and he looked
up with a whinny of recognition-
First things Brst The casde would be stirring,
at least as far as servants were concerned. It
would be an hour or more before I was missed
from my room. but there was no time to waste
in getting away—I was still within sight from the
ramparts. I took the horse's rein. twisted the stir-
rup, and swung up into the saddle. Not far
ahead the river boiled across the shallows of the
ford. I urged him forward, and he responded

The Tripod / 1SS
willingly. Crossing the ford. I looked back again.
Nothing had changed, the Tripod had not
moved. This time relief was not disabling but
enlivening. Water splashed against Aristide's fet-
locks. The breeze was stronger than it had been,
carrying a scent that tantalized me before I re-
membered it A bush with that scent had grown
on the island in the river where Eloise and I
had picnicked, where we had been happy and
at ease and she had talked of Ac future, I
reached the far side of the river. A track led
through fields of rye, flat and straight for a long
way. I pressed Aristide into a canter.

I rode for several hours before I thought it
safe to stop. The land was empty at the begin-
ning, but later I passed men making for the
Belds or already working there. The first I came
on suddenly, cantering round a bend masked by
a small copse, and I was confused and appre-
hensive. But they saluted me as I rode past, and
I realized they were saluting the saddle, and the
Bne clothes I wore; to them I was one of die
gentry, a boy taking a ride before breakfast. All
the same, I avoided meeting people as far as I
could, and was glad when I came out of culti-
vated land into rough rolling uplands, where I
saw nothing but sheep.

156 / The White.Mountains

There had been time to think about the Tri-
pod—about the amazing fact that I had been
caught and then set free, unbanned, un-Capped,
but I came no nearer to a solution. I had to
abandon it as one of the incalculabilities that
happened with them—a whim, perhaps like the
whim that had caused those others to spin
around the Orion, howling in rage or glee or
some other quite different and unfathomable
emotion, and then rocket off across the water,
away and out of sight. These creatures were
nonhuman, and one should not try to give them
human motives. All that really mattered was
that I was free, that my mind was still my own
and master, as far as circumstances allowed, of
my destiny.

I ate, and drank water from a stream, and
mounted and rode again. I thought of those I
had left behind at the castle, of the Comte and
Comtesse, the knights and esquires I had come
to know, of Eloise. I was fairly confident they
would not find me now—Aristide's hoofs would
leave no trace on the short grass and sunbaked
earth, and they could not spare long from the
tournament for a pursuit. They seemed very far
away, not just in terms of distance but as people.
I remembered their kindness—the graciousness

The Tripod / 157
and sympathy of the Comtesse. the Comte's
laughter and his heavy hand on my shoulder-
but there was something not quite real about
the memories. Except of Eloise. I saw her
clearly, and heard her voice, as I had seen and
heard her so many times during the past weeks.
But the last image was the one that came most
sharply and cruelly to mind: the look on her
face when she told me she was going to serve
the Tripods, and said. "I am so happy—so
happy." I kicked Aristide, and he gave a snort of
protest, but moved into a gallop across the green
sunlit hillside.

The hills rose higher and higher ahead. There
was a pass marked on the map, and if I had
traveled right by the sun, t should soon be in
sight of it. I drew rein on the crest of a ridge
and looked down the slope beyond. I thought I
saw a gap at about the right place in the line of
green and brown, but everything trembled in a
haze of heat, making identification difficult. But
there was something nearer which drew me.

Perhaps half a mile ahead something moved.
A figure—two, toiling up from the fold of
ground. I could not identify them yet, but who
else could it be in this deserted spot? I set Aris-
tide to the gallop again.

258 / The White Mountains

They turned before I got close, alarmed by
the sound of hoofs, but long before that I had
made sure of them. I came to a halt beside them
and leaped off the horse's back, even now, I am
afraid, proud of the horsemanship I had ac-
quired.

Henry stared at me. puzzled, and at a loss for
words. Beanpole said, "So you have come, WuL"

"Of course," I said. "Why, didn't you think I
would?"

8

Flight
and a
Follower

1 told them nothing of Eloise and what had
changed my mind. This was not just because I
was ashamed to admit that I had seriously
thought of staying behind, of allowing myself to
be Capped for the sake of the rewards that
would follow; though I was bitterly ashamed. It
was also because I did not want to talk about
Eloise to anyone. Subsequently Henry made one
Or two sly remarks which obviously referred to

160 / The White Mountains

her, but I ignored him. At this time, though, he

was still too shaken by my appearance to say

much.

It sounded sensible and well planned, the way
I told it-that I had thought it best to give them
twenty-four hours' start, and then steal a horse
and follow them: this gave us all the greatest
chance of getting away. I did tell them of my
experience with the Tripod. I thought they
might be able to cast some light on it, that Bean-
pole. at least, would be able to work out a
theory to account for it, but they were as much
at a loss as I was. Beanpole was anxious that I
should try to remember if I had actually been
taken inside the Tripod and what it had been
like, but of course I could not

It was Beanpole who said that Aristide must
go. I had not thought about this, except in a
hazy way of imagining that, if I found the other
two again, I could generously let them have
turns in riding him, myself remaining his pro-
prietor. But it was true, as Beanpole pointed out,
that three boys and a horse, unlike three boys
on foot or a single boy on a horse, presented a
picture that posed questions in the mind of any
who saw them.

Flight and a FoBower f 161

Reluctantly I accepted the fact that I could
not keep him. We took off his saddle, because
it had the arms of the Tour Rouge stamped on
it, and hid it behind a ridge of rock, kicking dirt
and piling stones over it to conceal it to some
extent It would be found eventually, but not
as soon as Aristide was likely to be. He was a
fine horse, and whoever came across him, run-
ning free and without harness, might not search
too far for an owner. I freed him from his bridle,
and he tossed his bead, at liberty. Then I gave
him a sharp slap on the haunch. He reared,
trotted a few yards, and halted, looking back at
me. I thought he was unwilling to leave me and
tried to think of some excuse for keeping him a
while longer, but he whinnied, tossed his head
again, and trotted away to the north. 1 turned
away, not wanting to see him go.

So we set off, once more on our way, the
three of us once more together. I was very glad
of their company and held my tongue even
when Henry, by now recovered, made a few
slighting remarks about how hard this must be
after the life of luxury I had enjoyed at the
castle. In fact. Beanpole intervened, stopping
him. Beanpole, it seemed to me, was taking it

l6a / The White Mountains
for granted, that, insofar as there was a leader
in our little group, it was he. I did not feel like
challenging that, either, at least not at the mo-
ment

I did find the walking tiring—the muscles one
used were quite different from those used in rid'
tag, and there was no doubt that I was out of
condition as a result of my illness and die pro-
tracted indolent convalescence that had fol-
lowed it I gritted my teeth,' though, and kept
up with the others, trying not to show my fa-
tigue. But I was glad when Beanpole called a
halt for a meal and a rest

That night, too, when we slept out under the
stars, with the hard earth under me instead of
the down-filled mattress to which I had grown
accustomed, I could not help feeling a little
sorry tor myself. But I was so tired, having had
no sleep the night before, that I did not stay
awake long. In the morning, though, every in-
dividual limb felt sore, as though someone had
been kicking me all night long. The day was
bright again and still, without the breeze that
had cooled us yesterday. This would be the
fourth, the next to last day of the tournament
There would be the melee and riding at the ring.

Flight and a Follower / 163
Eloise would still be wearing her crown, award-
ing prizes to the victors. And after tomor-
row ...

We reached the pass marked on the map, not
long after we set off. We followed a river which
came down out of the hills, its course inter-
rupted at times by splashing falls, some of them
quite large. Higher up, the map showed, was a
place where another river came close to this
one. for a while running almost alongside it,
and we came to this before evening.

This second river, except in a few places
where it had broken its banks, was oddly
straight-sided and uniform in width. Moreover,
it ran on different levels, the divisions between
them marked by devices plainly made by the an-
cients. with rotting timbers and rusting iron
wheels and such. Beanpole, of course, worked it
all out to his satisfaction. Men had made the
second river, digging out its bed and perhaps
feeding water into it from the main river. He
showed us that beneath the grass and other
vegetation covering the banks, there were
bricks, carefully laid and mortared. As for the
devices, these were a means of permitting boats
to pass from ooe level of the river to another—

164 / The White Mountains
a method of filling and draining the short stretch
between the two sections that were at different
heights. The way he explained it made it sound
reasonable, but he was good at making fantastic
things seem plausible.

He grew quite enthusiastic about the idea as
we traveled alongside the river. This could be—
had been, he was sure-an aquatic Smnand-Fair,
with boats pulling carriages along the level wa-
ters. and people getting on and off at the places
where the wheels and things were.
, "With your steam kettle pushing them?"
Henry said.

••Why notF

Tienty of water, anyway."

I said, "Some of the stops seem to have been
very close together, and others miles apart And
there are no signs of villages having been there.
Only the ruins of a cottage, sometimes not even
that"

He said impatiently, "One cannot understand
all the tilings the ancients did. But they built
this river, it is certain, and must therefore have
used it It could be fixed to work again."

Where the straight-river turned sharply back
on itself, toward the north, we left it The coun-
try that followed was much rougher, with even

Flight and a Follower / 165
fewer signs of cultivation or human habitation.
Food was beginning to be a problem again. We
had gone through that which we had brought
from the castle, and the pickings here were
small. At our hungriest we came on a wild chick-
en's nest. She had been sitting on a clutch of
fourteen eggs, and ten of them we found we
could manage to eat. with the aid of the sharp
spice of hunger; the rest were bad. We would
have eaten her still more willingly if we had
been able to catch her.

At last we looked down from the hills into a
broad green valley, through which a great river
flowed. Far in the distance other hills rose. Be-
yond them again, according to the map» were the
mountains which were our journey's end. We
had come a long way and still had far to go. But
the valley was patchworked with fields, and one
saw houses and farms and villages. There was
food down there.

Foraging, though, proved less easy than we
had expected. Our first three attempts at raid-
ing were frustrated, twice by furiously barking
dogs. the third time by the farmer himself, who
awoke and came after us, shouting, as we scat-
tered through his yard. We found potato fields
and managed to stave off the worst of our

l66 / The White Mountains
hunger, but raw potato was a poor diet for
traveling and living rough on. I thought unhap-
pily of all the food that went to waste at the
castle-this. I calculated, would have been Cap-
ping Day. when the feasting was on an even
more magnificent scale than during the tourna-
ment But, thinking of that, I thought of Eloise,
who would not be at this feast. There were
worse things than hunger, worse ills than physi-
cal discomfort.

The next morning our luck changed. We had
come more than halfway across the valley (hav-
ing swum the river and afterward let the sun
dry us as we lay exhausted on its banks) and
were moving into higher country again. There
was a village, to which we gave a wide berth,
but even from a distance we could see activity
down there—flags and banners were out for
some local celebration. I thought of Capping
but Beanpole said it was more likely to be one
of the many church feasts they had during the
year—these were more common in his land than
in England.

We watched for a time, and while we were
doing so witnessed an exodus from a farmhouse,
a few hundred yards from the copse where we
lay. Two traps were brought around to the

Flight and a Follower / 167
front door, the horses decorated with ribbons,
and people piled into them, dressed in their
Sunday clothes. They looked prosperous and,
more important, well fed.

I said hungrily, "Do you think they've all
gone?"

We waited until the traps were out of sight
before we made our reconnaissance. Beanpole
approached the house, while Henry and I
waited nearby. If there were someone in, he
would make an excuse and get away. If not...

There was not even a dog—perhaps they had
taken it with them to the celebration—and we
did not have to break in- A window had been
left far enough open for me to wriggle through
and slip the door bolts for the others. We wasted
no time, but headed for the larder. We polished
off a half-carved goose and some cold roast
pork, and spread cheese on crusty bread. When
we had eaten as much as we could, we filled our
packs and went, replete and somewhat slug-
gishly, on our way.

And guiltily? It was die biggest act of piracy,
or theft if you like, that we had committed so
far. The bells still rang out in the valley, and a
procession was moving along the main street of
the village: children in white, followed by th»ir

i68 / The White Mountains
elders. Presumably including the fanner and his
wife, who would come back to find their larder
stripped. I could imagine my mother's distress,
my father's angry contempt In Wherton a
stranger was not sent away hungry, but the rules
of mine and thine were sacrosanct

The difference was that we were not strangers
—we were outlaws. In our pitifully puny way,
we were at war. Essentially with the Tripods,
but indirectly with all those who. for whatever
reason, supported them. Including—I forced my-
self to stare it in the face—all those I had known
and been fond of at the Chateau de la Tour
Rouge. Every man's hand was against us in the
enemy country through which we marched. We
must live by our wits and resources: none of the
old rules applied.

Later we saw a Tripod coming along the val-
ley, the first we had seen for some days. I
thought Beanpole had been wrong, that it was
heading for the village and a Capping, but in-
stead of going there it stopped, well clear of
habitation, a mile or so from us. It stayed there.
as motionless and seemingly inanimate as the
one at the castle had been. We went on a litde
faster than before and kept in cover as much as

Flight and a Follower / 169
we could. Though there seemed little point in
It: there was no reason to assume that it was
concerned with us or could even see us. It gave
no indication of wanting to follow us. In an hour
or so we lost sight of it

We saw the same Tripod, or a similar one. the
next morning, and once again it halted some
way from us and stayed there. Again we moved
on and lost it. There was more cloud in the sky
than there had been, and there was a blustery
wind. We had finished the food we had taken
from the farmhouse—Beanpole had wanted to
ration it out, but for once Henry and I had over-
riden him—and did not find any more as the day
wore on. We were hungry again, probably the
more so because we had eaten well the day be-
fore.

Toward evening we climbed up through fields
closely set with plants, supported by sticks, on
which were clusters of small green grapes. These
would be picked when they were fully grown
and ripe, and their juice squeezed out of them to
make wine. There had been a few fields of them
in the neighborhood of the castle, but I was
amazed by how many of them there were here,
and how the fields—or terraces, rather—were laid

ITO / The White Mountains
out to catch the rain and sun. I was hungry
enough to try one or two of the larger fruits,
but they were hard and sour, and I had to spit
them out

We had been sleeping in the open, but we
realized that, with the possibility of the weather
breaking, it might be a good idea to find some
shelter for the night In fact, we discovered a
hut, a rough-and-ready affair set at the junc-
tion of three of the fields. Remembering our last
experience, we were wary of going in. but Bean-
pole assured us that it was a place that would
only be used at the time of picking the fruit, and
certainly there was no dwelling in sight—only
the long ranks of sticks and plants stretching
away in die dusk. It was very bare, with not
even a chair or table, but the roof, although it
showed the sly in places, would keep most of
the rain off us.

It was a relief to have found shelter and, pok-
ing around, we also discovered food, although it
was barely edible. It consisted of strings of
onions, such as the blue-jerseyed men from
across the sea sometimes brought to Wherton.
but these were withered and dry, in some cases
rotten. They might have been brought here by
the workers at the last picking, though it was

Flight and a Follower / 171
hard to see why they should have been aban-
doned. At any rate. they stayed the protests of
our bellies to some extent. We sat in the door-
way of the hut. chewing on them, and watched
the light fade behind the line of hills. It was
peaceful, and even with a supper of stale and
wilted onions and the prospect of a night on a
crumbling floor. I felt more contented than I had
been since leaving the castle. I thought less
about things that disturbed me—they were fad-
ing behind me. And we were doing welL In a
few more days we should be within reach of the
mountains.

Then Henry went around to the other side of
the hut and a moment later called to us to come,
too. He did not need to draw our attention to it
The Tripod stood anchored to the hillside, not
much more than half a mile away.

Henry said, "Do you think it's the same one?*

I said, "It wasn't in sight when we came up to
the hut I looked over that way."

Henry said uneasily, "Of course they all look
alike"

"We must go on," said Beanpole. "It may be
accident, but it is better not to take chances."

We abandoned the hut and toiled on up the
hill. We lay in a ditch that night, and I did not

1/3 / The White Mountains

sleep well, though fortunately the rain held off.

But I doubt if I should have slept at all in the

hut, aware of the monstrous sentinel on guard

outside.

The Tripod was not in sight when we set out
in the morning, but not long after we stopped
at midday it, or another, heaved across the brow
of the hill behind us and halted at much the
same distance. I felt my legs trembling

Beanpole said, "We must lose it"

•Yes," Henry said. "but how?"

"Perhaps we help it," Beanpole said, "by stay-
ing in the open.'

Ahead of us lay fields, some with vines, others
with different crops. To the left, a little off our
course, there were trees—the edge, it appeared,
of a forest which seemed to extend over the
folds of land beyond.

"We will see." Beanpole said, "if it can watch
us through leaves and branches."

We found a field planted with turnips before
we entered the forest, and filled our packs with
these, realizing there might be small chance of
provender ahead. But it was an immense relief
to be concealed; the green ceiling was thick over

Flight and a FoQower / 173
our heads. We saw only occasional fragments of
the sky, the sun not at all-
Traveling was more difficult, of course, and
more exhausting. In places the trees were very
thick, and there were others where the under-
growth was so tangled that we were obliged to
find a way around rather than force a path
through. At first we half expected to hear the
Tripod crashing through the forest behind us.
but as the hours went by with nothing but ordi-
nary woodland noises—birds, the chatter of a
squirrel, a distant grunting that was most likely
wild pig—we grew confident that, whether or
not we had been right in thinking we were being
pursued, we had put the idea out of question
now.

We stayed in the forest that night, ending our
day a little early because we came across a
woodman's hut There was kindling, and I made
a fire while Henry took a couple of wire snares
that were hanging on the wall and set them at
the entrances to some rabbit holes nearby. He
caught one, when it came out for its night run,
and we skinned it and roasted it over the burn-
ing logs. We ate the rabbit by itself. There were
stifl some turnips left, but by this time we were
heartily sick of them.

174 f TA® WhUe MountaSm

The next morning we headed for open coun-
try again, and reached it in a little over an hour.
There was no sign of a Tripod, and we set off
in good spirits over land which was more wild
than cultivated, having a few meadows with
grazing cows and goats, and occasional patches
of potatoes and the like, but mostly moorland-
scrub grass and bushes, including one that bore
great quantities of a blue berry with a sweet and
delicate taste. We gorged ourselves on these and
filled our packs with litde potatoes.

Steadily the land rose and equally steadily
grew barer. The forest had fallen away to the
east. but there were clumps of pine which
thickened to form a wood. We walked through
its soft silence, where even bird song was
hushed and far away, and came toward evening
to the crest of a ridge, below which, tor a hun-
dred yards or more, the pines had been felled
not long since: the ax-scarred stumps gleamed
white, and many of the trees were still lying
where they had fallen, waiting to be dragged
away.

It was a vantage point We could see down
the fall of land, over the dark green tops of the
standing trees, to other higher hills. And beyond
them ... so remote, so tiny seeming, and yet

FUght and a Follower / 175
maJestic-their tops white, flushed with pink by
the westering sun, pressed against the deep blue
of the sky ... I marveled to think that that was
snow. At last we were in sight of the White
Mountains.

Henry said, sounding dazed, They must be
miles high."

"I suppose so."

I felt better, looking at them. In themselves
they seemed to challenge the metal monsters
who strode, unchecked and omnipotent, over the
lower lands. I could believe now. fully believe.
that men might shelter beneath them and re-
main free. I was thinking about this when Bean-
pole moved suddenly beside me.

-Listenr

I heard it and turned. It was behind us. and
a long way off, but I knew what it was: the
crash and splinter of wood under the massive
impact of metal—the great feet stamping their
way up through the pine wood. Then they
stopped. We could glimpse it through a small
gap in the trees, etched against the sly.

Beanpole said, "We have not been in sight all
the afternoon. We are not in sight now. And yet
it knows we are here."

176 / Tfie White Mountains

I said, with a sick heart, "It could be coinci-
dence."

"Twice, yes. A third time, even. But not when
the same thing happens again and again. It is
following us, and it does not need to see us. As
a dog will follow a scent"

Henry said, *That's impossiblel"

"Where nothing else can explain, the impos-
sible is true."

"But why follow? Why not come and pick us
up?"

"How can one tell what is in their minds?"
Beanpole asked. "It may be that it is interested
in what we do—where we go."

All the elation of a minute earlier had faded.
The White Mountains existed. They might pro-
vide us with refuge. But they were still a jour-
ney of many days away, the Tripod no more
than a few giant's strides.

Henry asked, "What are we going to do?"

"We must think," Beanpole said. "So far it is
content with following us. That gives us time.
But perhaps not much time."

We set off down the slope. The Tripod did not
move from its position, but we were no longer
under any illusion about that We slogged on in
a dispirited silence. I tried to think of some way

Flight and a Follower / 177
of shaking it off, but the harder I concentrated
the more hopeless it seemed. I hoped the other
two were having better success. Beanpole, at
any rate. Surely he could work something out.

But he had not thought of anything by the
time we stopped tor the night We slept beneath
the pines. It stayed dry and, even at this height.
was fairly warm, and the bed of needles, inches
thick it seemed from the long years of shedding,
was softer than anything I had slept on since the
castle. But there was not much consolation in
any of these things.

9

We
Fight a
Batt/e

The morning was gloomy, matching our mood;

the pines were enshrouded in a thin gray cold
mist, which brought us to shivering wakefulness
while there was still barely enough light to see
our way. We stumbled through the trees, trying
to warm-ourselves by our activity, and gnawing
on raw potatoes as we went We had not been
able to see much of the valley the night before
and could see nothmg now. It grew lighter, but

We Figfit a Battle f 279
visibility was limited by the mist There was a
circle of a few yards, and after that the trunks
of trees melted into the surrounding mono
chrome.

Of course we saw nothing of the Tripod. Nor
did we hear anything: the only sound was the
sound of our own progress and that, over the
carpet of pine needles, was so quiet that it
could not have carried much beyond the field of
view. if as far. A day earlier this would have
been heartening, but we could not pretend that
ft made any difference that. for the present, our
pursuer was out of sight and hearing. It had
been so for well over twenty-four hours, and
then had come, through the trackless forest of
pines, to stand over us.

We came out of the pines into wet grass
which soaked our feet and the lower part of our
legs. It was very cold. We had been setting a
faster pace than usual, but the exercise had not
warmed us. I was shivering, my teeth chattering
a little. We did not talk much. and what we
said was bare and tinhopefuL There was no point
in asking Beanpole if he had thought of a way
out One only had to look at his long miserable
face, pinched by the cold, to see that he had not

The valley bottomed out, and we bore to the

180 / The White Mountains
west The map had showed us that if we fol-
lowed it for some miles we would find an easier
ascent We were continuing to go by the map
automatically for want of anything better. We
heard the lonely gurgle and splash and chatter
of water, and found a river and followed it We
had been traveling for some hours, and I was as
chilled and wretched as at the start, and a good
deal more hungry. There was no sign of food or
life here.

Then, gradually, the mist lifted. The dirty
gray turned whiter, became translucent,
gleamed with silver, here and there admitted a
shaft of brightness that dazzled briefly on the
tumbling surface of the water before snuffing
out Our spirits lifted with it to some extent, and
when the sun appeared, Brst as a thin silver disk
and at last as an orb of burning gold, we felt
almost cheerful by comparison. I told myself that
perhaps we had been wrong in thinking the
Tripod had some magical way of tracking us.
Perhaps its means of following us had been
through senses—sight, hearing—which were only
in degree better than our own. And if that were
so, might not the long trek through the mist
have lost us? It was not a rational optimism, but
it made me fed better. The last of the mists

We Fight a Battle / 181
trailed away into the distance, and we were
traversing a broad sunlit valley, with the high
ground on either side draped in white clouds.
Birds were singing. Apart from them, we were
entirely alone.

Until I heard a distant craclding far up on the
hillside, and looked Acre and saw it, half veiled
In cloud but hideously real.

In the afternoon we found a dump of horse-
radish, and pulled the roots up and ate them.
The taste was bitter and fiery, but it was food.
We had left the valley, starting a climb up long
but fairly moderate slopes of rough scrubland.
and the Tripod was out of view again. But not
out of mind. The feeling of hopelessness, of being
caught in a trap which in due course must close,
continually strengthened. I had followed fox
hunts on foot back at Wherton, but I would have
no stomach for them after this. Even the sun.
which beat down more warmly than ever out of
a clear sly, could not cheer me. When, with its
rays slanting low from the west. Beanpole called
a halt, I dropped onto the grass, empty and
exhausted. The other two, after resting a while,
stirred themselves and began foraging, but I did
not move* I lay on my back, eyes dosed against

iSa / The White Mountefrr
the light, hands clasped under the back of my
neck I still did not move when they came baci^
arguing about whether one could eat snakes-
Henry had seen one but railed to kill it—and
whether, anyway, they were hungry enough to
eat it raw since there was no kindling for a fire.
I. kept my eyes shut when Henry, in quite a
different, sharper voice, said. 'What's that?*

It would not, I was sure, be anything that mat-
tered. Beanpole said something, in a lower voice,
which I did not catch. They were whispering
together. I kept my closed eyes on the sun, which
would soon be gone behind the hills. They
whispered again. Then Beanpole said, ''Will.*

"Yes"

"Your shirt is torn, under the arm."

I said. "I know. I ripped it on a thorn bush
coming up from the river."

"Look at me. Will." I opened my eyes. and
saw him standing over me, looking down. There
was a strange look on his face. "What is it you
have, under your arm?"

I got into a sitting position. "Under my arm?
What are you talking about?**

"You do not know?" I had put my right hand
under my left arm. "No, the other one."

I used my left arm this time, feeling into my

We Fight a Battle / 283
armpit I touched something whose texture was
not the texture of flesh, but smoother and harder

—something like a small metal button, on whose
surface my finger tips traced faint corrugations.
a kind of mesh. I craned my head, trying to look
at it, but could not It seemed to melt into my
skin. with no clear division between them. I
looked up and saw the other two watching me.

"What is it?"

"It is the metal of the Caps," Beanpole said.

*Tt grows into the skin. as the Caps do."

The Tripod ..." I said. "When it caught me.
outside the castle, do you think .. .**

I did not need to finish the sentence. Their
faces showed me what they thought I said
wildly, *You don't think I've been guiding it—
that I*m under its control?"

Henry said, ""It's been following since a few
days after you caught up with us. We cant
throw it off. can we? Have you got a better way
of accounting for it?"

I stared at him. The mystery of the Tripod's
ability to find us, time after time. and the
mystery of the small metal button, somehow
welded to my body—they could not be separated,
they must belong together. And yet my mind
was my own; I was no traitor. I had the same

184 f The White Mountains
certainty of that as I had of my very existence.
But how could I prove it? There was no way that
I could see.

Henry turned to Beanpole. "What are we
going to do with him?"

Beanpole said. "We must think carefully be-
fore we do anything."

**We haven't got time for that We know he's
one of them. He's been sending messages to it
with his mind. He's probably sent one saying
he's been found out It may be coming after us
right now."

*'Wm told us of the Tripod," Beanpole said.
That it caught him and released him again—
that he was unconscious and could remember
nothing. If bis mind had been a servant of the
Tripods, would he have said those things? And
would he not have taken care, when his shirt
was torn, rather than lie so that we could see
it? Moreover, it is very small, not like the Caps
and not near the brain."
"But it is tracking us through himi"
"Yes, I believe so. The compass—it points to
the north, because there must be much iron
there. If you bring other iron near, it will point
to that. One cannot see or feel the thing that
makes it do this. The Tripod caught him going

We Fight a Battle / 185
away from the castle, when everyone there was
asleep. He was un-Capped. but it did not Cap
him. Maybe it was curious about what he would
do, where he was going. And put this thing on
him which it could follow, like a needle on a
compass.**

It made sense; I was sure what he said was
true. I could feel the button under my arm with
every small movement I made—not hurting, but
I knew it was there. Why had I not felt it be-
fore? The same thought must have occurred to
Henry.

"But he must have known about it»" he said.
"A thing like that*"

"Perhaps not. Do you have in your country
,.. people who amuse, with animals, those who
swing through the air from bars, strong men,
and such?"

"The circus," Henry said. "I saw one once."

There was one came to my town, with a
man who did strange things. He told people to
go to sleep, and to obey his commands, and they
did as he ordered, even doing things which
made them look foolish. Sometimes the com-
mands lasted for a time after. A sailor with a
crippled hip walked with no limp for a week-
after that, the pain and the limp returned."

i86 / The White Mountains

"I can feel it now," I said.

"We have shown it to you." Beanpole said. "It
may be that this breaks the command."

Henry said impatiently, "None of this alters
the facts. The Tripod can trace him through that
thing and can pick us up along with him."

I saw his point I said, "There's only one thing
to do."

"What is that?" Beanpole asked.

Tf we separate, and I go a different way from
you—it can follow me still, but you will be all
right"

"A different way to the White Mountains? But
you will still lead it there. Most likely that is
what it wishes.

I shook my head. "I won't go there. TO double
back.**

"And be caught again. And Capped?"

I remembered the moment of being plucked
from Aristide's back. the ground shrinking
beneath me. I hoped I was not going white
with the fear I felt I said, "It will have to catch
me first

"It will catch you," Beanpole said. "You have
no chance of getting away."

I said, trying not to think of what it entailed,
1 can head it away, at least"

We Fight a Botlfo / 187

There was a silence. It was, as I had said, the
only thing to do, and they were bound to agree
with it There was no need, really, for them to
say anything. I got to my feet. turning away
from their faces.

Beanpole said. "Wait"

•What for?"

"I said that we must think. I have been think-
ing. This thing under vour arm—it is small, and
though it is fastened to the skin I do not think
it goes much beneath it"

He paused. Henry said, **WelP"

Beanpole looked at mp, 'It is dear of the big
vein. But it will birt it we iut it out"

I had not ser-n what he was driving at, and
hope, when I did, made me 'lizzy

"Do you think vim can:'"

"We can try"

I began stripping 'iS my shut "Let's not waste
any time on itT

Beanpole was not t»* be hurried. He made me
lie down with my arm held up, and explored the
button and the skin around It with his fingers.
I wanted him to get on A-th it, but I was in his
hands and realized there was no point in show-
ing my impatience.

J88 / The White Mountains

At last he said, "Yes, it will hurt I will do it as
quickly as I can, but you will need something to
bite on. And, Henry—you must hold his arm out
so that he cannot draw it back."

He gave me the leather strap of his pack to
hold between my teeth; I felt the sour, harsh
taste of it on my tongue. The knife was one he
had picked up in the great-city. It bad a good
edge then, having been protected by a kind of
grease, and he had spent some time sharpening
it since. It could not be too sharp tor my liking.
At a word from Beanpole, Henry took my arm
and stretched it out and back behind me. I was
lying on my left hip, my face toward the ground.
An ant scurried along and disappeared between
blades of grass. Then there was the weight of
Beanpole squatting over me, his left hand feel-
ing again at the flesh under my arm, outlining
the shape of the button. I was making a trial bite
at the leather when he made the first cut, and
my whole body jerked and I very nearly pulled
my hand free from Henry's grasp. The pain was
excruciating.

It was followed by another stab, and another.
I tried to concentrate on the leather strap,
through which my teeth seemed to be almost

We Fight a Battle / 189
meeting. I was sweating so much that I felt drops
of it rolling down the side of my face. and I saw
one splash in the dust I wanted to cry to him to
stop, and let me have at any rate a rest from the
pain, and was on the point of spitting the strap
out to be able to speak when a new jab made
me bite it again, and the side of my tongue with
it There was the hot salty taste of blood in my
mouth, and tears in my eyes. Then, from a great
distance, I heard him say. "You can let go now."
and my hand and arm were free. The pain was
furious still, but mild compared with what it
had been a little earlier. Beanpole got up from
me. and I started to drag myself to my feet I
had to move my arm to do so, and felt sick
from what it did to me.

"As I thought," Beanpole said, "it Is on the
surface only. Observe."

I got rid of the gag and looked at what he was
holding in his hand. It was silvery gray, about
half an inch in diameter, thicker in the center
and tapering toward the edge. It was solid, but
gave the impression of hundreds of tiny wires
just below the surface. Attached to it were the
bloody scraps of my flesh which Beanpole had
cut away.

xoo f The Write Mmmfaha

Beanpole poked the button with his finger.

It is curious," he said. 1 would like to study
this. It is a pity we must leave it."

His gaze was one of dispassionate interest
Henry, who was also looking, had a greenish
tinge to his face. Staring at the gobbets of flesh
adhering, nausea rose in me again, and this
time I had to turn away to be sick. When I re-
covered, Beanpole was still looking at the button*

Gasping, I said. Throw ft away. And we'd
better get going. The farther we get away from
here, the better."

He nodded reluctantly and dropped It in the
grass. He said to me. Tour arm-does ft hurt
much?"

1 wouldn't care to bowl fast for the next
hourortwo."^

-Bowlfastr

In cricket It's a game we play m our coun-
try. Oh, never mind. Let's get a move OIL It wifl
take my mind off it*

There is a herb which heals wounds. I wffl
look for it on the way."

A good deal of blood had flowed and was stui
flowing down my side. I had been mopping ft
up with my shirt, and I now rolled the shirt up
Into a ball, wadded ft under my aim, and walked

We Fight a Battle / IQI
with ft in that position. My hopeful suggestion
that traveling would take my mind off the pain
did not work out very welL It went on hurting
fust as much, it not more. But I was rid of the
Tripod's button, and each Jolting step left ft
farther behind.

We were continuing to climb over rough but
mostly open country. The sun was setting on
our right; on the other side our long shadows
were almost abreast of us. We were not talking,
in. my case because I was too occupied with
gritting my teeth. It was, if one were in the
mood for appreciating it, a lovely and peaceful
evening. Calm and stilL No sound, except...

We stopped and listened. My heart seemed to
contract, and for a moment the pain was blotted
out by the greater power of fear. It came from
behind, faint but seeming to grow louder every
Instant: the hideous warbling ululation which
we had heard in the cabin of the Orion—the
hunting call of the Tripods.

Seconds later ft was in sight, coming around
the base of the hill and unmistakably climbing
toward us. It was some miles away. but coming
<m fast—much faster, I thought, than its usual
zato of progress.

iga / The White Mountains

Henry said, "The bushes .,."

He did not need to say more; we were afl
three running. What he had indicated offered
one of the few bits of cover on the hillside, the
only one within reasonable reach. It was a small
thicket of bushes, growing to about shoulder
height We flung ourselves in among them, bur-
rowed into the center, and crouched down there.

I said, "It can't still be after me. Can it?"

"The button,** Beanpole said. "It must be that
cutting it out gave an alarm. So it has come after
you, and this time hunting."

"Did it see us. do you think?" Henry asked.

*I do not know. It was far away, and the light
Is poor."

In fact. the sun had gone down; the sly above
our hiding place was drained of gold. a darker
blue. But still terrifyingly clear—much lighter
than it had been the morning I had left the
castle. I tried to console myself with the thought
that I had been much nearer to it also. The
bowling was louder and closer. It must have
reached and passed the place where Beanpole
had conducted the operation on me. Which
meant...

I felt the ground shiver under me, and again
and again with still greater force. Then one of

We Fight a Battte f 193
the Tripod's legs plunged across the blue. and I
saw the hemisphere, black against the arc of sky.
and tried to dig myself down into the earth. At
that moment the howling stopped. In the silence
I heard a different, whistling sound of something
whipping terribly fast through the air and
glancing up tearfully, saw two or three bushes
uprooted and tossed away.

Beside me. Beanpole said, "It has us. It knows
we are here. It can pull the bushes out till we
are plainly seen."

"Or kill us. pulling them out," Henry said. Tf
(hat thing hit you.. "

I said. "If I showed myself..w

"No use. It knows there are three."

"We could run different ways," Henry said.
"One of us might get away."

I saw more bushes sail through the air. like
confetti. You do not get used to fear, I thought;

it grips you as firmly every time.

Beanpole said, "We can fight it"

He said it with a lunatic calm, which made me
want to groan.

"What with?" Henry said. "Our fists?*

"The metal eggs." Beanpole had his pack open
already and was rummaging in it The Tripod's
tentacle whistled down again. It was ripping

lg4 f The WhSte Momfafns
the bushes up systematically. A few more passes
—half a dozen at most—would bring it to us.
"Perhaps these were what our ancestors used to
fight the Tripods. Perhaps that is why they were
in the underground Shmand-Fair—tbey went
out from there to fight them."

I said, "And they losti How do you think.. .'*

He had got the eggs out He said, "What else
Is there?"

Henry said. "I threw mine away. They were
too much trouble to cany.*

The tentacle sliced into the bushes, and this
time we were scattered with earth as it pulled
them up. Beanpole said, "There are four." He
handed one each to Henry and me. "I will take
the others. When we pull out the rings, count
three, then stand up and throw. At the leg that
is nearest The hemisphere is too high."

This time I saw the tentacle through the
bushes as it scooped up more. Beanpole said,
^NowP

He puDed the rings from his eggs, and Henry
did the same. I had taken mine in my left hand,
and I needed to transfer it to the right As I did
so. pain ripped my armpit again, and I dropped
ft. I was fumbling on the ground to pick it up
when Beanpole said, "Now!" again. They scram.

We Fight a Batffe f 195
bled to their feet, and I grabbed my egg, ignor-
ing the pain of the movement, and got up with
them. I ripped out the ring just as they threw.

The nearest foot of the Tripod was planted on
the slope, thirty yards or so above us. Beanpole's
first throw was wild—he did not get within ten
yards of his target But his second throw and
Henry's were close to the mark. One of them hit
metal, with a clang that we could hear. Almost
at once they exploded. There were three nearly
simultaneous bangs, and fountains of earth and
dust spouted into the air.

But they did not obscure one plain fact: the
eggs had done no damage to the Tripod. It stood
as firmly as before, and the tentacle was swishing
down, this time directly toward us. We started
to >un, or rather, in my case. prepared to. Be-
cause before I could move, it had me around the
waist

I plucked at It with my left hand, but it was
Hce trying to bend a rock. It held me with
amazing precision, tight but not crushing, and
lifted me as I might lift a mouse. Except that a
mouse could bite. and I could do nothing against
the hard gleaming surface that held me. I was
lifted up, up. The ground shrank below me. and
with it the figures of Beanpole and Henry. I

igG / The White Mountains
saw diem darting away like ants. I was steeple-
high, higher. I looked up, and saw die hole in
the side of the hemisphere. And remembered tfae
iron egg still dutched in my right hand.

How long was it since I had pulled the ring
out? I had forgotten to count in my fear and
confusion. Several seconds—it could not be long
before it exploded. The tentacle was swinging
me inward now. The hole was forty feet away,
thirty-five, thirty. I braced myself back, straining
against the encircling band. Pain leaped in my
arm again, but I ignored it I hurled the egg
with all my strength and what accuracy I could
muster. I thought at first that I had missed, but
the egg hit the edge of the opening and rico-
cheted inside. The tentacle continued to cany
me forward. Twenty feet. fifteen, ten ...

Although I was nearer, the explosion was not
as loud as the others had been, probably because
it happened inside the hemisphere. There was
fust a dull, rather hollow bang. Despair came
back: that was my last chance gone. But at that
instant I felt the metal holding me relax and fall
away.

I was three times the height of a tall pine; my
bones would smash against the ground when I
landed. I clutched desperately at the thing

' We Fight a Battle f 197
against which, a few seconds earlier. I had been
Struggling. My hands gripped the metal, but I
was falling, falling. I looked at the ground and
closed my eyes as it rushed up to meet me. And
then there was a jerk which almost tore me from
my hold, and the falling stopped. My feet
shivered, a few inches from the ground. All I
bad to do was let go and step down.

The others came to me. We stared up in awe
at the Tripod. It stood there, seemingly un-
harmed. But we knew it was finished, destroyed,
lifeless.

10

The
White
Mountains

Beanpole said, 1 do not know if it could teU
others before it died, but I think we had better
not stay here."

Henry and I heartily agreed. For my part,
even though I knew it was dead, I still, irration-
ally, feared it. I had a vision of it toppling
crushing us beneath its stupendous weight I
desperately wanted to get away from this place.

Tt others come," Beanpole said, "they will

The 'White Mountains / 199
search the surrounding part. The more distant
,we are before that happens, the better for us."

We set off up the hill, running. We ran until
we were straining for breath, hearts pounding
deliriously, leg muscles tortured with fatigue,
and still staggered on. My arm was hurting a
lot. but after a time I felt it less than I felt the
other aches and pains. Once I feB, and it was an
exquisite pleasure just to lie there, panting but
not moving, my face pressed against grass and
powdery earth. The others helped me up. and
I was partly angry as well as grateful.

It took us about halt an hour to get to the top.
Beanpole stopped then, and we stopped with
him—I do not think I could have gone more than
a few more yards, anyway, before falling again.
And this time no help would have got me to my
feet I gulped in air, which hurt me but which
I had to have. Gradually the tightness in my
chest eased, and I could breathe without pain.

I looked down the long slope up which we had
come. Darkness was falling, but I could still see
the Tripod there. Was it really possible that I
had kmed it? I could be^n to appreciate the
enormity of what I had done, not so much with
pride as with wonder. The unchallenged, im*
pregnable masters of the earth-and my right

300 / The Whtte Mountains
hand had smashed it into death. I thought I
knew how David had felt when he saw Goliath
topple in the dust of the valley of Elah.
Beanpole said, "Look."
His voice did not generally tell one much, but
there was alarm in it I said, 'Where?"
To the west-
He pointed. In the far distance something
moved. The familiar hateful shape heaved itself
over the skyline, followed by a second and a
third. They were a long way off yet, but the
Tripods were coming.

We ran again, down the other side of the
ridge. We lost sight of them at once. but that
was small consolation, knowing they were in
the next valley, and realizing the puniness of
the best speed we could manage in comparison
with theirs. I hoped they would stay with the
dead Tripod for some time, but doubted if they
would. Seeking revenge against its killer was
more likely to be their immediate concern. I
put my foot on uneven ground, stumbled, and
came near falling. At least it was dark and
getting darker. Unless they had cat's eyes, it
made our chances Just a little bit better*

And we needed all the help we could get

The White Mountains f 302
There appeared to be no more cover in this
valley than the last—less, because I could not see
a single bush. let alone a clump. It was all rough
grass, with outcroppings of stone. We rested
against one of these when exhaustion finally
halted us again. Stars were out. but there was
no moon: it would not rise for some hours. I
was very glad of that

No moon but. above the ridge, a light in the
sly, a light that moved, changing shape. A num-
ber of lights? I drew Beanpole's attention to it
He said, "Yes. I have seen that"

The Tripods?"

•What else?"

The light became beams, thrusting forward
along the sky like arms. They shortened, and one
of them swung in a stabbing arc across the sky,
so that it pointed down instead of up. I could
not see what lay behind the beam, but it was
easy enough to imagine. The Tripods had come
over the crest The beams of light came from
the hemispheres and enabled them to see their

way.

They were spaced out, a hundred yards or so
apart, and the beams of light swept the ground
before and between them. They were traveling
more slowly than I had seen a tripod travel, but

aoa / The White Mountains
even so day were going faster than we could
run. And were, as far as we knew, tireless. They
made no sound, save tor the dull thumping of
their feet, and somehow this was more frighten-
ing than the howling of the other Tripod had
been.

We ran, and rested, and ran again. Rather
than endure the extra effort of scaling the far
side. we followed the valley to the west In the
darkness we stumbled and fell over Ac uneven
ground, bruising ourselves. Behind us the Hgfit
followed, relentlessly weaving to and fro. Dvx-
ing one pause we saw that the Tripods had split
up. one going up Ac other side of the valley
and another marching to the east But the third
•was coming our way and gaining on vs.

We heard a stream and, on Beanpole's sug-
gestion, made for it Since the three of them were
apparently searching in different directions, it
did not seem likely that they were following a
scent as a hound does, but there was a chance
that they might be, or might follow our trades
through grass and where the earth was soft We
got into the stream and splashed our way along.
It was only a few feet wide, luckily quite shallow
and with an even bed for the most part Tne
wonderful leather boots that had been made for

The White Mountains / 003
me by the cobbler at the castle would not be
improved by the soaking, but I had more press-
ing things to think about

We paused again. The stream splashed against
our legs, just above our ankles. I said. "We can't
go on like this. It will have reached us in another
Quarter of an hour.*

Henry said, "What else can we do7*

"There's only one Tripod now. Its light covers
}ust about the whole of the valley Boor, and per-
haps a little of the sides. If we make a break for
it, up the slope ... it might miss us and go on
past."

"Or it might trace our tracks out of the stream,
and follow us."

''We should take the risk. We have no chance
at all this way." He did not say anything. "What
do you think. Beanpole?"

I?" he said. "I think it is too late already.
Look ahead."

Along the valley there was a light, which
brightened and, as I watched, became a beam.
We gazed at it in silence and despair. Then an-
other light, appearing above the ridge which I
had suggested we climb, twisted in the air and
arced down. And there were other lights, less
distinct, above the opposite slope. It was no

304 / The White Mountains
longer a question of one Tripod remorselessly
gaining on us from behind. They were here in
force and all around us.

"Should we scatter?" Henry suggested. "I sup-
pose we might have a bit more chance separated
than all together.**

I said, "No. The same chance. None at all,
that is."

"I think I'm going to," Henry said. The way it
is, once they spot one, they've got us all"

Beanpole said, *'Wait."

"For what? A few more minutes and it will be
too late."

"That rock, there."

Visibility was better because of the light
diffused from the Tripods* beams. We could see
each other, as though in dim mbonlight, and a
little of our surroundings. Beanpole pointed
down the stream. Some twenty yards ahead
there was a shadowy ridge of rode, more than
head high.

"It may give some cover," Beanpole said.

1 doubted that. We might flatten ourselves
against it, but the beams would still catch us.
But I had nothing better to offer. Beanpole
splashed off along the stream, and we splashed
after him. The course of the stream ran right

The White Mountains f aos
beside the rock, which I saw now had diverted
its course to some extent. The reef was about
thirty feet long. Its upper part was smooth and
flat with a gentle backward slope, providing no
protection at alL But the lower part...

Some time in the past the stream had been
stronger and more turbulent than it was now,
and its fierceness had worn away a band of stone
at the base. We bent down, exploring it with our
hands. At its maximum it was not more than two
feet high, and about as deep; but it seemed to
run the entire length of the rock. Two more
beams of light appeared on the northern escarp-
ment of the valley, and one of them was flicker*
ing far ahead, making spots of light that darted
perilously near to where we stood. There was no
room for delay. We snuggled ourselves into the
crevice, in line, head to toe—Beanpole, then
Henry, and myself at the end. My right arm was
against rock, but my left side felt terribly ex-
posed. I tried to force myself farther in, even
though it hurt my arm to do so. If I lifted my
head just a fraction, my forehead touched the
stone overhang. The sound of my breathing
seemed to echo in this confinement

Beanpole whispered, "No talking. We roust
stay here quietly. For an hour, perhaps."

ao6 / The While Mountains

1 watched the scene outside brighten as the
Tripods came nearer, and heard the thump,
heavier and heavier, of their feet Eventually I
could see light reflected from the surface of die
stream farther up. Then. directly in front of my
face. night became day, and I could see small
stones, blades of grass, a betde frozen into immo-
bility. all with tremendous clarity. And the
ground shook as the foot of a Tripod slammed
down only a few yards from us. I pressed myself
tightly against the rock. It was going to b» a,
long hour.

A long hour, indeed. AH night the beams of
light played across the hills, advancing and re-
treating, crossing and recrossing the ground.
Dawn broke at last, but the hunt did not stop.
The Tripods came and went in a constant traffic;

allowing for die same ones passing over us time
after time, there must still have been dozens of
them.

But they had not seen us, and as the houra
wore slowly on we became more and more con-
fident that they would not Even in daylight our
deft must be invisible from the height of the
hemispheres. But by the same token, we dared

The White Mountains / 007
not leave its shelter. We lay there in increasing
discomfort and boredom and hunger, seasoned in
my case with pain. My arm began to hurt very
badly, and there were times when I thought I
would make my lip bleed with biting on it, and
I felt tears come to my eyes and run down my
cheeks.

By midday the intensity of the search had be-
gun to slacken. There were periods of as long as
five or ten minutes in which we dared to creep
out and stretch our legs, but always they ended
with the sight of another Tripod, and every now
and then a troop of them would come stamping
through the valley. We could not go far from the
crevice; there was no other cover of any kind
within reach.

Day drifted into dusk. and dusk into night,
and there were the beams of light again. There
were not so many as before, but there was never
a time that one could not see them, either in the
valley or lighting the sky beyond the heights.
Occasionally I dozed off into sleep, but never
for long. The awareness of rock directly above
my face was smothering—I was cold and aching
and my arm was burning and throbbing. Once I
woke up, moaning with the pain of it Surely

ao8 / The White Mountains
they would go with daybreak? I watched the
sky, greedy for the first inkling of natural light
It came at last, a gray cloudy dawn, and we
emerged, shivering, and looked about us. There
had been no beams of light for half an hour or
more, and there were none now. But five min-
utes later we scurried back into hiding as an-
other Tripod lurched up the valley.

Beanpole said. "Look."

So it went on, all that morning and long into
the afternoon. I was too miserable, dazed with
hunger and pain, to pay attention to anything
but the business of enduring from one moment
to the next, and I do not think die others were in
much better shape. When, toward evening, a
lengthening period with no Tripods made it
seem that the search might at last be off. we
found it difficult to take it in. We came out of
the cleft, but tor a couple of hours at least sat
huddled by the stream, watching for signs of
their return.

Darkness was falling by the time we made up
our minds to go on. and it was an indication of
our wretchedness and confusion that we should
have done so. We were weak from hunger and
utterly weary. A mile or two farther on. we
collapsed and lay all night in the open, with no

Tfie White Mountains / 309
hope of concealment if the Tripods bad come
back. But they did not, and dawn showed us
an empty valley, flanked by silent hills.

The days that followed were hard. For me,
particularly, because my arm had festered. In
the end. Beanpole cut it again, and I am afraid I
was less stoical this time. and shrieked with pain.
Afterward Beanpole put some of the healing
herbs, which he had found, on the wound, bind-
ing them in place with a bandage made from the
tail of my shirt, and Henry said he knew it must
have been pretty agonizing: he would have
shrieked a good deal more. I was more glad o£
his kindness than I would have expected.

We found a few roots and berries, but we
were hungry all the time. and we shivered in our
thin clothes, especially during the nights. The
weather had changed. There was a lot of cloud
and a cold breeze from the south. We reached
high ground, from where it should have been
possible to see the White Mountains, but there
was no sign of them—only an empty gray hori-
zon. There were moments when I felt that what
we had seen before was a mirage rather than
reality.

Then we came down into a plain, and there

aio / The White Mountains
was a stretch of water so immense that one could
not see its end: The Great Lake of the map. The
country was rich and fertile. We were able to
get more and better food, and with the satisfac-
tion o( hunger, our spirits began to pick up.
Beanpole's herbs, I found, bad worked; my aim
was healing cleanly now.

One morning after a good night's sleep
among hay in a barn, we awoke to find the sky
once more blue and all things bright and light
There were the hills which fringed the plain to
the south, and beyond them, splendid and look-
ing so dose that one almost felt one could reach
out and touch them, the snowy peaks of the
White Mountains.

Of course, they were not nearly so dose as
they seemed. There were still miles of plain and
then the foothills. But at least we could see them,
and we set out in good heart We had been
traveling for an hour. and Henry and I were
making Jokes about Beanpole's gigantic steam
kettle, when he stopped us. I thought the jokes
had annoyed him, but then felt, as he had al-
ready done, the earth quiver beneath our feet
They were coming from the northeast, from our

The White Mountains / sit
left and behind-two Tripods, moving fast and
heading directly for us. I looked round desper-
ately. but knew what I would sec. The land was
green and fiat. without a tree or rock, a hedge or
ditch, and the nearest farmhouse a half a mile
away.

Henry said, "Shall we run for it?"
"Run where?" Beanpole asked. "It is no good."
His voice was flat If he recognized it was
hopeless. I thought, then it was hopeless indeed.
In a minute or two they would be on us. I looked
away from them to the gleaming battlements of
white. To have come so far, endured, so much,
and to lose with our goal in sight—it was unfair.

The earth shook more violently. They were a
hundred yards away, fifty . . . They inarched
side by side, I saw, and their tentades were do-
ing strange tilings, probing and retreating from
each other, describing elaborate patterns in the
air. And something moved between and above
them, a golden something that Sashed with
brightness, tossed to and fro against the blue of
Ay.

They were on us. I waited for a tentacle to
reach down and seize me, conscious less of fear
than of a futile anger. A great foot slammed

si2 / The White Mountains
down a few yards from us. And then they were
past, and going away, and my le^ felt as though
they were budding,

Beanpole said in wonder. "They did not see
us. Because they were too concerned with each
other? A ritual of mating, perhaps? But they are
machines. What, then? It is a puzzle to which I
would like the answer."

He was welcome, I thought, both to the puzzle
and to its answer. All I could feel then was the
weakness of relief.

A long. difficult, and dangerous journey,
Ozymandias had told me. So it proved. And with
a hard life at the journey's end. He was right in
that, too. We have nothing in the way of luxury,
and would not want it if we could; minds and
bodies must be kept trim for the tasks that lie
ahead.

But there are wonders, of which our new
home itself is the greatest We live not only
among the White Mountains, but inside one of
them. For the ancients built a Shmand-Fair here,
too—six miles, long, rising a mile high through a
tunnel hewed out of solid rock. Why they did it,
for what great purpose, we cannot tell; but now,
with new tunnels carried still farther into the

The White Mountains f 323
mountain's heart, it provides us with a strong-
hold. Even when we arrived, in summer, there
was snow and ice around the opening to the
main tunnel, and it emerges at a place that looks
over a river of ice, inching its way down be-
tween frozen peaks to be lost in the distance.
But inside the moutain the air is no more than
cool. protected as we are by the thick layers of
rock.

There are viewing points where one can look
out from the side of the mountain. Sometimes I
go to one of these and stare down into the green
sunlit valley far below. There are villages, tiny
fields, roads, the pinhead specks of cattle. Life
looks warm there, and easy, compared with die
harshness of rock and ice by which we are sur-
rounded. But I do not envy the valley people
their ease.

For it is not quite true to say that we have no
luxuries. We have two: freedom and hope. We
live among men whose minds are their own, who
do not accept the dominion of the Tripods, and
who, having endured in patience for long
enough, are even now preparing to cany the war
to the enemy.

Our leaders keep their counsel, and we are
only newcomers and boys—we could not expect

ai4 / The White Momtatni
to know what the projects are, or what our part
in them may be. But we shall have a part, that
is certain. And another tiling is certain, too: in
the end we shall destroy the Tripods, and free
men will enjoy die goodness of the earth.