Seaward Read Online Free

said, bemused, “West—Westerly.”
    â€œWell watch it, West—keep position.”
    â€œPosition?”
    â€œFive feet each of us from the other, the man said—you deaf ? Have to be, to miss him.”
    He grinned, a pleasant battered face creasing under the golden cap, and jerked his head at a chunky red-faced man bellowing orders at all around him. Red Face caught sight of Westerly.
    â€œGet back, that man there! Whatta you think you’re doin’? Havin’ a little chinwag, eh? This ain’t no picnic!”
    Westerly moved hastily sideways, and Red Face turned his attention to another disorganised soldier. “Get in position, get in position! You’re in the army, son. . . .”
    Gradually over all the vast field sounds died away, until there was a long hush broken only by the distant whinny of a horse, and the clash of a dropped shield. Down here, Westerly could see nothing of the pattern that had seemed so clear from above; there was only his group of men scattered obediently at their five-foot intervals, and fifty yards away another identical gold-clothed platoon. He could smell sweat, and dung, and the dirt of the field. He realised belatedly that he held a sword in his right hand, and that the other arm and hand were thrust through the leather thongs of a heavy round shield; he felt the weight of the strange golden tunic and trousers he wore.
    There was no weight on his shoulders. He thought in panic of his pack, and spun round, searching, anxious.
    His neighbour hissed, “Stand still!”
    â€œBut I’ve lost—”
    â€œShut up!”
    Red Face was turning. Westerly froze, staring rigidly ahead. The big man looked at him suspiciously, but turned away again. The field was still, prickling with tension. Somewhere far off, a lark’s bubbling song rose into the air.
    Westerly whispered, “What are we waiting for?”
    â€œTheir next move, of course. Keep watch—all around you. You never know what’ll come.”
    â€œAnd what if it comes?”
    â€œStand.”
    Westerly glanced at him. The weatherbeaten face was grim, the eyes darting nervously round, straining to see any movement on the field.
    â€œStand?”
    Sing-song, the man said, “Stand. Whatever happens, stand fast.”
    â€œAnd there’s nothing you can do to escape,” Westerly said.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThen what’s the point of watching?”
    The man frowned, intent, and shook his head impatiently.
    Westerly looked up and saw the two tall figures, one gold, one blue, standing high above them on the slope. He said, “But it’s his move.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThe players —up there. It’s his turn—and we’re his men.”
    The man glanced up at the slope, and then back at Westerly, frowning. “You crazy? What players? There’s no one up there. There’s only this, here. Just wait, and be ready.”
    Faintly from the nearest group of golden soldiers a shout rose: “Charge!” All together, in neat formation, they ran another fifty yards further from Westerly’s troop; pausing then, only dimly visible, in the same stillness as before.
    Looking up, Westerly saw the arm of the gold-robed figure raised, pointing at the move it had made; then it dropped. He watched the blue. There was a pause; he could just see the light of the dying sun glinting on the woman’s bright hair. Then, slowly, she in turn raised her arm.
    In the moment of stillness he tried desperately to remember the pattern of the living pieces on the great chessboard as he had seen them from above, but he could not find the image. All around him were the grim, dogged faces, waiting, unquestioning. He heard shouts and a huge rumbling, and towards them over the field one of the moving towers came inexorably bearing down, blue-clad soldiers all around it, heaving, yelling.
    Red Face bellowed, “Stand