"Nothing," Andrew said. "I know nothing about this business, and neither does my son. Let me pass."
"You'll pass when-and if-we decide to let yer pass," the giant said, and shoved him backward into the waiting arms of the other drunks.
The pummeling then began. Andy Staad was pushed from one to the next, sometimes slapped, sometimes elbowed, sometimes tripped. No one quite dared to go as far as punching him, but they came close; he had seen in their eyes how badly they had wanted to. If the hour had been later and they had been drunker, he might have found himself in very serious trouble indeed.
Andrew was not tall, but he was broad-shouldered and well muscled. He calculated that he might be able to dust off any two of these idlers in a fair fight-with the exception of the giant, and he thought that perhaps he could give even that fellow a run for his money. One or two, possibly even three... but there were eight or ten there in all. If he had been Ben's age, full of pride and hot blood, he still might have had a go at them. But he was forty-five, and did not relish the thought of creeping home to his family beaten within an inch of his life. It would hurt him and frighten them, and both things would be to no purpose-it was just the Staad luck come home with a vengeance, and there was nothing to do but endure it. The barkeeper stood watching it all, doing nothing, not attempting to put a stop to it.
At last they had let him escape.
Now he feared for his wife... his daughter... and most of all for his son Ben, who would be the prime target for bullies such as those. If it'd been Ben in there instead of me, he thought, they would have used their fists, all right. They would have used their fists and beaten him unconscious... or worse.
So, because he loved his son and was afraid for him, he had struck him and threatened to drive him from the house if Ben ever mentioned the prince by name again.
People are funny, sometimes.
63
That Ben Staad didn't already understand abstractly about this strange new state of affairs he discovered very concretely the next day.
He had driven six cows to market and sold them for a good price (to a stockman who didn't know him, or the price mightn't have been so good). He was walking toward the city gates, when a bunch of loitering men set upon him, calling him murderer and accomplice and names even less pleasant.
Ben did well against them. They beat him quite badly in the end-there were seven of them-but they paid for the privilege with bloody noses, black eyes, and lost teeth. Ben picked himself up and went home, arriving after dark. He ached all over, but he was, all things considered, rather pleased with himself.
His father took one look at him and knew exactly what had happened. "Tell your mother you fell down," he said.
"Aye, Da'," Ben said, knowing his mother would not believe any such story.
"And after this, I'll take the cows to market, or the corn, or whatever we have to take to market... at least until the bankers come an' take the place out from under us."
"No, Da'," Ben said, just as calmly as he had said Aye. For a young man who had taken a bad beating, he was in a very strange mood indeed-almost cheerful, in fact.
"What do you mean, telling me no?" his father asked, thun-derstruck.
"If I run or hide, they'll come after me. If I stand my ground, they'll grow tired soon enough and look for easier sport."
"If someone draws a knife from his boot," Andrew said, voic-ing his greatest fear, "you'll never live to see them grow tired of it, Benny."
Ben put his arms around his father and hugged him tight.
"A man can't outsmart the gods," Ben said, quoting one of Delain's oldest proverbs. "You know that, Da'. And I'll fight for P... for him you'd not have me mention."
His father looked at him sadly and said, "You'll never believe it of him, will you?"
"No," Ben said steadfastly. "Never."
"I think you've become a man while I wasn't looking," his father said. "It's a sad way to have to become a man, scuffling in the streets of the market with gutter louts. And these are sad times that have come to Delain."
"Yes," Ben said. "They are sad times."
"Gods help you," Andrew said, "and gods help this unlucky family."
Chapter 10
64
Thomas had been crowned near the end of along, bitter winter. On the fifteenth day of his reign, the last of that season's great storms fell on Delain. Snow fell fast and thick, and long after dark the wind continued to scream, building drifts like sand dunes.