After that neither she nor Ynen went near their uncle Harchad if they could help it.
The gales dropped, and the earls all went home. Hildy’s cousin Irana Harchadsdaughter ran feverishly from window to window trying to get a last glimpse of the Earl of the South Dales.
This sentimental behavior so disgusted Hildy that she said, “I don’t know why you carry on like that. He hasn’t even looked at you. And I bet he’s twice as cruel as your father is. His eyes are even meaner.”
Irana burst into tears. Hildy laughed and went out for the first sail of the year in the yacht Wind’s Road. But Irana went weeping to her cousin Harilla and told her how beastly Hildy had been.
“She said that, did she?” said Harilla. “Right. It’s time someone taught Lady Superior a lesson. Come with me to Grandfather. I bet he doesn’t know she’s gone out sailing.”
Hadd did not. He was in a very bad temper, anyhow, having quarreled furiously with Earl Henda. And the coming of the ship from the North had brought home to him just how important it was to have an alliance with the Lord of the Holy Islands. The thought that this alliance was at that very moment in danger of drowning in a squall was almost too much for him. He was so angry that Harilla was almost sorry she had gone to him. She got her face slapped, as if it was her fault. Then Navis was summoned. Hadd raged at him for half an hour. And when Hildy came in, she found herself in the worst trouble of her life. She was utterly forbidden ever to go sailing again, in any kind of boat whatsoever.
For three days after that, even Ynen hardly dared go near Hildy. She stole a fur rug from her aunt and sat wrapped in it, up on the leads of the roof, looking out over the lovely whelming sea, streaked gray, green-blue, and yellow where the sandbanks were, too angry even to cry. It’s just the alliance. He doesn’t care about me, she thought. Then, after two days, she remembered she would be able to sail once she got to the Holy Islands. I wish I could go now she thought. Away from this horrible cruel place. She spent the rest of the day making a loving drawing of Wind’s Road. When it was finished, she cut it carefully in half and labeled one half “Ynen” and the other “Hildrida.” Then she crossed out “Hildrida” and wrote “Ynen” on that half, too. After that, she came down from the leads and handed both halves to Ynen.
“There you are. She’s all yours now.”
Ynen sat holding both halves of the drawing. He was glad, but it seemed a shame. It was the high price Hildy had to pay for being important: Ynen reflected that this autumn he would at last be old enough to take part in the Sea Festival. He swore to himself that if he died in the attempt, he would catch his grandfather one on the nose with a rattle. Hadd deserved it if ever anyone did. Then he thought about the Earl of Hannart’s sons and hoped Uncle Harchad would be in the procession, too. He would catch a whopper.
Down in Holand, they were still talking about the Northmen. As Milda said, it seemed hard to hang them when they had only come in for shelter. Hobin said it was only to be expected. Mitt gradually forgot his mixed feelings. As time went on, he remembered more and more his glimpse of the Northerners shuffling like all prisoners. It came to something, he thought, when the tyranny of Holand could make free men of the North look so abject. In fact, as a free soul himself, he despised the Northmen a little for it. Come autumn, and I’ll show them! he thought.
Most people were sorry for the Northmen. Feeling ran high against Hadd all that summer. Then rumors were heard that the North had defeated the South in a great battle and blocked the last of the passes in the mountains between them. After that even people who were in favor of Hadd began saying it was Hadd’s fault. He had let them in for a shameful defeat by hanging twenty innocent men.
“Good,” said Siriol. Things are going our way nicely.”
The Free Holanders were planning long and carefully all through that summer. Among other things it suddenly dawned on Mitt and Milda that no one must connect Hobin with Mitt when Mitt threw his bomb. Give Harchad’s spies half a clue, as Mitt said, and Hobin would be hanged. Mitt was confident that he could lie well enough to keep Hobin out of it. “I’ve had years of practice,” he said. “The wonder is that I know how to tell the truth these days. But will Hobin keep himself out of it?” That was the trouble. Hobin seldom bothered to watch the Festival. But he might take it into his head to do so, and if he saw Mitt being arrested, he was quite capable of going with Mitt and spoiling everything. “That’s the worst of him being so honest,” Mitt said.
Mitt took this problem to the Free Holanders. They put their heads together. The result was that Ham, who had always liked Hobin, struck up a proper friendship with him. The two of them went for walks together, out in the Flate, all that summer. Ham managed surprisingly cunningly. He got Hobin used to longer and longer walks. By the end of the summer they were spending all day in the Flate, having supper at an inn, and not getting back to Holand until after nightfall.
“See?” Ham said, with his big, slow grin. “Then on the day of the Festival, we go out to High Mill, twenty-odd mile, and we’ll be seen. I’ll make sure the innkeeper swears to us.”
Then, to Mitt’s exasperation, another society of freedom fighters put its oar in. It was called Hands to the North. It tacked notices to the gates of the Palace and the barracks which promised, in crude writing and even cruder language, to kill Hadd during the Sea Festival. “AND AS MANY ER THE REST ER YU AS WE CAN GIT.”
“That’s torn it!” Mitt said as soon as he heard the news. Milda broke the eggs again, and a jug of milk for good measure, and she and Mitt both seized a baby apiece and hurried round to see Siriol. “What shall we do?” said Mitt. “There’ll be spies and soldiers all over now. Who are these Hands to the North anyway?”
“Not any lot I know,” said Siriol. “This is bad. It could have the Earl stopping the Festival.”
“He’d better not!” said Milda. “I’ve trained Mitt for this for years. And the clothes won’t fit him if we have to wait another year.”
Siriol thought, in his customary unhurried way. “If the Palace thinks of staying at home,” he said, “we’ll hear it soon enough on the grapevine. Meanwhile, it wouldn’t do no harm to see if we couldn’t start a bit of a panic. Go round letting on that it’ll be terrible bad luck for Holand to stop the Festival, and that kind of thing.”
So the Free Holanders dropped a word here and another there. Most of them were content simply to hint at dire bad luck. But Mitt felt he could not leave things so much to chance. Whenever Hobin was not by to listen, Mitt would whisper passionately to anyone who happened to be in the workshop, of floods, fires, famines, and plagues. “And that’s just the least of what’ll happen if old Hadd’s too scared to hold the Festival, ‘’ he would conclude, and pull a dreadful face to suggest all the other unspeakable kinds of bad luck. When Milda was out shopping, she said things even more highly colored.
Four days later the rumor came back to Mitt when the arms inspectors called on their weekly visit. “Hear what they’re saying?” said one. “They say if Hadd stops the Festival, the sea rises up and spews out monsters over Holand, and all manner of ignorant nonsense.”
“Yes,” said the other. “Monsters with heads like horses and horns like bulls. I mean, I know it makes you laugh, Hobin, but you must admit it shows how much happier everyone would be to know there is going to be a Festival this year.”
Hobin was still laughing after they had gone. “Monsters!” he said. “Don’t let me catch you listening to that sort of nonsense, Mitt.”
“No fear!” said Mitt. Secretly he was awed by the way the rumor had grown.
Next day Hadd announced that the Festival would be held as usual. Hadd was no coward, and no fool either. The news Harchad’s spies brought him showed him well enough how much, he was hated in Holand. He knew that to cancel the Festival might be the thing that could spark off a real revolution. So he did not cancel it. But he forbade any of his grandsons to take part in the procession. The procession, this year, was to consist of servants and merchants and their sons—all people who did not count.