The Prince and the Pilgrim
Contents ( 16)
MARY STEWART
The Prince and
the Pilgrim
www.hodder.co.uk
First published in Great Britain in 1995 by Hodder & Stoughton
An Hachette UK company
Copyright © Mary Stewart 1995
Mapwork by Rodney Paull
The right of Mary Stewart to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance
to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library
ISBN 9781444737578
Hodder & Stoughton Ltd
338 Euston Road
London NW1 3BH
www.hodder.co.uk
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
One: Alexander the Fatherless
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Two: Alice the Motherless
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Three: The Knight-Errant
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Four: The Pretty Pilgrim
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Five: Alexander in Love
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Six: Alice and Alexander
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue
The Legend
Author’s Note
About the Author
Also by Mary Stewart
In this, the fiftieth year of our marriage,
this book is dedicated to my husband,
Fred,
with all my love.
ONE
Alexander the Fatherless
1
In the sixth year of the reign of Arthur the High King of all Britain, a young man stood on the cliffs of Cornwall, looking out to sea. It was summer, and below him the rocks were alive with seabirds. The tide, coming to the full, swept in over the pebbled shore to break in mild thunder on the base of the cliffs. Out beyond the foam-veined shallows the sea deepened in colour to the darkest indigo blue, with, here and there, fangs of rock where the water frothed in angry white. It was easy to believe – and of course the young man believed it – that the old land of Lyonesse lay drowned out yonder, fathoms deep, and that the people of that doomed land still walked – or rather floated, like the ghosts they were – among the buildings where fish swam, and where on still nights could be heard the muffled tolling of the drowned church bells.
But today, with the sun high and the sea as calm as the seas ever get on that cruel stretch of coast, no thought of the old lost kingdom crossed the mind of the watcher on the cliff. Nor was he conscious of the summer beauties round him. With a hand to his brow, he was straining, through narrowed eyes, to distinguish something far out to the south-west. A sail.