“And I, as senior among us, deemed him fit to serve,” added Ingo.
“Do as you see fit,” said Henry. “Such a brave fighter is welcome in my Lions.”
“Whom will you nominate as margrave of Eastfall?” asked Lady Brigida from the crowd. As niece of Duke Burchard and Duchess Ida, she might expect to be named.
Several voices spoke. “Princess Theophanu. Prince Ekkehard.”
Henry raised a hand for silence. “I will think on it. It is not a decision to be made rashly. Duke Burchard.” He turned to the old duke. “Can you send a force into the marchlands from Avaria?”
The duke coughed before he spoke, and his voice was weak. “I have no sons of an age to lead such an expedition,” he said slowly and pointedly—thus reminding all listeners that his second son Frederic had died fighting in the marchlands and his eldest son, Agius, just last spring, had sacrificed himself to save the king from the dreadful guivre. “It is my experience that the Quman riders must be met by cavalry. Foot soldiers cannot defeat them. You must reform the Dragons, Your Majesty.”
“I have no sons of such an age either,” said Henry harshly, not even looking toward poor Ekkehard who sat unnoticed in the corner behind Helmut Villam. “Not anymore. Nor any soldiers as brave as those who died at Gent.”
No one spoke or ventured an opinion, for Duke Burchard had thrown the meat among the dogs and everyone waited to see how ugly the fight would be for the spoils. But no one dared contradict the king, not even Burchard.
“What other news do you bring for me, Eagle?” Henry demanded, turning his attention back to the young woman kneeling before him. “There has been enough of bad news. Pray you, tell me nothing more that I do not want to hear.”
She had been pale before. Now she blanched. “There is another piece of news,” she began, almost stuttering. “I heard it when we halted at the Thurin Forest, where we had come searching for you. They had it there from Quedlinhame.” Then she broke off.
“Go on!” said the king impatiently.
“N-news from Gent.”
“Gent!” The king stood again.
“Ai, Lady,” muttered Brother Fortunatus, wincing as he got up.
“What news?”
“Only this: that two children escaped from the city. The children said that a daimone imprisoned by Bloodheart showed them the way out through the crypt, but there was no trace of such a tunnel when the foresters thereabouts went later to look.”
“Such a tunnel,” said Villam, “as the other refugees from Gent claimed to have used to flee to safety?”
“I don’t know,” said Hanna, “but Liath—”
“Liath?” asked the king.
“My comrade in the Eagles. She would know. She was there.”
“Of course,” said the king. “I will question her later. Go on.” His interest was keen and his attention, on the young Eagle, utterly focused.
“There is little else to report. The Eika still infest the city. They have brought in slaves who work the smithies and armories and in the tanneries, so the children reported. They saw—” She made a kind of hiccuping sound, then got the words out. “According to the report I heard, they saw the bodies of fighting men in the crypt below the cathedral. Tabards sewn with the sigil of a dragon.”
“That is enough.” The king signed her to silence. She looked relieved to be free of his notice. “I am weary. Today my stewards will organize the train. Tomorrow we ride toward Echstatt. Duke Burchard, you will give me fifty soldiers to send to Eastfall. Young Rodulf of Varingia and ten companions attend me. He can prove himself loyal to me and cleanse his family honor of the stain laid there by his father the late duke by fighting well and bravely in the east. Let them be called Dragons.” The words came hard, but he spoke them. “In time, others will be added to their number.”
He shut his eyes a moment, seemed to be praying silently; then he shook himself free of memory and went on. “God guide us in this hour of loss.” He touched a hand to his chest where, Rosvita knew, he kept an old bloodstained rag—the birthcloth of his bastard son Sanglant—nestled against his skin. “Now we must consider Gent. We have recovered from our losses at Kassel. There has been time to get the harvest in, and by the mercy and grace of Our Lord and Lady, the crop has been good. Sabella remains safely in the custody of Biscop Constance. I need only an army sufficient to attack Gent.”
Many people in the hall, mostly young and male, clamored at once. “I will go! Let me ride, Your Majesty! The honor of my kin—!”
The newest arrival at court, pleasant and able Lord Geoffrey, shouldered his way to the front. “Grant me this honor, Your Majesty,” he said, kneeling.
Henry raised a hand to cut short the outcry. “Winter is a poor season for Eagles to ride, but ride they must for my purposes. Hathui. Send one hardy soul to Margrave Judith, to inquire if she will lend her physician for the care of my daughter until she gives birth to the child. Send one with the expedition to Eastfall. Send another to Duke Conrad in Wayland with these words: ‘Attend me on my progress to explain your conduct toward my Eagle at Julier Pass.’ And choose a fourth carefully, to send to Count Lavastine, in Varre.”
Lord Geoffrey glanced up, surprised.
“You, my young friend,” said Henry to him, “I will keep by my side for a few more hunts at least. Let the Eagle ride now to your kinsman. You can return there later.”
“Why to Count Lavastine?” asked Burchard querulously.
Villam, who had been listening carefully to the king, smiled softly as at a joke only he understood.
“He has gained a son. I have lost one. Let Lavastine prove his loyalty to me by meeting me with an army at Gent. If God grant us victory over the Eika and restore the city to our hands, then I will grant him the reward he seeks.”
8
IN the end it had mattered not. And she had, besides, brought death to a dozen or more people. Could God ever forgive her? Could she forgive herself?
“Please, Da,” she prayed, hands clasped tight before her lips, “please tell me what to do. Why didn’t you teach me, Da?”
“I will teach you, Liath.”
She jerked away just before he could set his clean, white hand on her shoulder. Stumbling up to her feet, she jumped out of his reach. Mist curled around them, a low-lying fog that shrouded trees and the market village, just out of sight of the king’s encampment. Hugh had worked some terrible magic on Sapientia’s mind, such that the princess would not let Liath out of her sight, as if she were a talisman for the safety of the unborn child. So Liath had risen early and come outside to relieve herself, and afterward lingered in the bitter cold of a fog-bound winter dawn, hoping to have one moment of solitude, of respite.
But Hugh could not let her be. He would never let her be. He had known long before she had what Da was protecting. And he wanted it for himself.
“Have you learned your lesson, Liath?” Hugh continued. “So many dead.” He shook his head, clicking his tongue with disapproval. “So many dead.”
“If you hadn’t spelled them to sleep—” she cried.
“It’s true,” he said, amazing her. She broke off. “I thought too well of what little I had learned. I will pray to God for wisdom.” His lips curled up. He seemed, for an instant, to be laughing at himself; then the moment passed and, as quick as an owl strikes, he grabbed Liath’s wrist. “Don’t be a fool. The longer you ignore it, the less able you will be to control it. Is that what you want?” He gestured toward the rise where the blackened hulk of the palace scarred its height. “Liath, whom else can you trust?”
“I’ll tell the king I set the fire—”
He laughed curtly. “Imagine what the king and his counselors will say when they discover they have harbored a maleficus in their midst. Only the skopos can judge such as you—a monster!”
“I’ll go to Wolfhere—”
“Wolfhere! We have had this discussion before. Trust Wolfhere, if you will. But I have The Book of Secrets now. I have seen wha
t you can do, and I do not hate you for it. I love you for it, Liath. Who else will love or trust you once they know what you are? I have the trust of the king, and Wolfhere does not. I can protect you from the king’s wrath, and the church’s suspicion. And when Sapientia gives birth to our child, I will be guaranteed the place of her closest adviser for as long as she reigns.”
“Not if she miscarries—”
He hit her, hard, on the cheek with an open hand.
“I carried your child,” she gasped, jerking away, but she could not get free. “Ai, Lady, I am glad you beat it out of me.”
He hit her again, and then again, harder, and the fourth time she staggered and fell to her knees—but this time she drew her knife.
“I’ll kill you,” she whispered hoarsely. Tears stung her eyes and blood dripped from her nose.
He laughed, as if her resistance delighted him.
“My lord Father!” A servingman ran out of the mist, leaping between her knife and Hugh’s body. He jumped in to grapple with her, but she flung the knife away before he could touch her. What use was a knife against Hugh’s magic—if it even were magic? Hugh wielded his earthly power as effectively as any magic.
“My lord Father, are you unhurt?” Numb, she listened as the servingman fawned over Hugh. “God Above! That an Eagle should threaten you so! I’ll take her into custody until the king—”
“Nay, brother.” Hugh broke in with a gentle smile. “Her mind is disordered by the minions of the Enemy. I thank you for your watchfulness, but God are with me and I need not fear her, for I intend to heal her instead. You may go on, but be sure I shall remember you in my prayers.” He nodded toward Liath. “As you must pray for her soul.”
The servingman bowed. “As you wish, my lord.” He shook his head. “You are all that is generous.” Clucking softly under his breath as if with veiled disapproval, he walked away.
Hugh’s gentle demeanor vanished as soon as the man was out of earshot. “Don’t provoke me, Liath, and don’t mock God.” His tone was as hard as the rocks digging into her knees. He picked up the knife and used the point to lift her chin so that she had to look at him. “Now go in. The princess wants to see you.” Then, in an action meant to flaunt his power and her weakness, he flipped over the knife and handed it to her, hilt first.
Still numb, she sheathed it. Her nose still bled. She pressed one nostril with a hand, to stem the blood, and walked stiffly back to the princess’ tent; Hugh walked right behind her. Her eyes stung and her head pounded, but her heart was frozen. Nothing she could do mattered. She had no recourse. Perhaps it was true that she could stop him physically should he try again to rape her … but he was still her jailer, and she was in every other way his prisoner.
Sapientia did not even notice Liath; she was gossiping with Lady Brigida about who might be named as the next Margrave of Eastfall. But Sister Rosvita was there, attending the princess.
“Good child,” she exclaimed as she noticed Liath. “What happened to your face?”
“I tripped on a stump. I beg your pardon, Sister.”
“No need to beg my pardon, Eagle. Your Highness, your father has sent me to get news of your health.”
“I’m feeling better,” said Sapientia. “I can ride today.”
“Perhaps not today,” said Rosvita gently, glancing curiously over at Liath again. “Your father wishes you to remain here resting another week before you attempt the journey to Echstatt.”
“I don’t want—!”
“Your Highness,” said Hugh softly.
Sapientia stopped dead, looked up at Hugh with a most disgustingly exultant expression, and smiled. “What do you advise, Father Hugh?”
“Heed the king’s advice, Your Highness. You must conserve all your energy to bring this child safely to term.”
“Yes.” She nodded soberly. “Yes, I must.” She turned back to the cleric. “Tell my father I will abide by his wishes.”
“I will. There is one other thing. King Henry wishes to interview your Eagle about Gent.”
Liath waited stupidly, stripped of purpose, until Sapientia gave permission for her to go. Hugh begged leave to attend the king. Together, Liath, Rosvita, and Hugh left and crossed to the king’s tent. Not even in such a small way would Hugh leave her alone. Henry was awake, seated in his chair while his servants packed what remained of his possessions into chests for the journey.
“There is the Eagle,” said the king as he looked up from a consultation with a steward about the outfitting of the new Dragons. He indicated Hathui, who stood over to one side of the tent with Hanna and a redheaded Eagle named, of course, Rufus. “You will give your report to your comrades. One of them will be riding to Count Lavastine. Father Hugh! How may I aid you?”
Hailed by the king, Hugh could hardly follow her over to the others.
“What happened to your face!” exclaimed Hanna.
“I beg you, Hathui,” pleaded Liath in a whisper, grasping Hathui’s hands. “I beg you, if you have any influence with the king, let me ride with Hanna, get me out of here.”
“I’m sorry, Liath. It’s already been decided.”
“But if you all go today, if you leave me alone—” She was suddenly so nauseated, head pounding, eyesight blurring, that she knew she was going to be sick.
“This way,” said Hathui briskly, and hustled her outside.
She retched, heaving up mostly spume for she had taken nothing to eat or drink since last night’s sparse dinner, and hacked and shuddered until she thought she might as well die now and be rid of this misery.
“Child!” Rosvita appeared out of the mist and touched her gently on the shoulder. “What ails you?”
Hysterical with fear, she no longer cared what she said or did. She could not endure this any longer. She flung herself down and clasped Rosvita’s knees like a supplicant. “I pray you, Sister. You have influence with the king! I beg you, ask him to send me away, anywhere, to take any message, anywhere, only away from here. I beg you, Sister.”
“You are from Heart’s Rest,” said Rosvita suddenly, in a tone of surprise. Liath looked up, but the cleric was examining Hanna, not her.
“I am.”
“And this one, too,” said Rosvita slowly, looking from Hanna to Liath and then back to Hanna. “Is it possible, Eagle, that you also know my brother Ivar?”
Hanna blinked, then dropped like a stone to kneel before the cleric. “My lady! I beg your pardon for not knowing—”
“Never mind it,” said Rosvita. “Answer my question.”
“Ivar is my milk brother. He and I nursed from the same breast—my mother’s. My lady, I beg you.” Coming from Hanna’s lips, the pleading sounded freakish. Hanna never begged. Hanna could always handle any emergency that came her way. Hanna was so calm. “It is presumptuous of me to claim kinship with you, my lady, but I beg you by that bond of kinship I hold with your brother, that if you can help her, please do.”
Liath gulped down a sob, she was so desperate, so hopeful, so stripped of hope.
“But why are you so eager to leave the king?” Clearly Rosvita was groping for answers and having trouble finding any. “You were with Wolfhere in Gent. Has he poisoned your mind somehow against Henry? Any dispute Wolfhere had with Henry was not of Henry’s making.”
“No,” gasped Liath, “it was nothing Wolfhere said. He never said anything against King Henry.”
“True-spoken words,” muttered Hathui.
“It isn’t the king at all.” Ai, Lady, how much could she say? How much dared she say?
“Come, now, daughter, take hold of yourself.” Rosvita set a hand, like a benediction, on Liath’s forehead. “If it is the service of Princess Sapientia you chafe under—”
“Yes!” Liath leaped at this. “Yes. I don’t—I can’t—We don’t suit, I—”
“An Eagle serves where the king commands,” said Rosvita sternly.
Having freed himself from the king, Hugh came out of the tent. Liath began to sob. She ha
d lost.
But Rosvita took her by the hand and lifted her up. “Come, daughter, dry your eyes and sit yourself down here, where there is shelter. It has begun to rain.”
Indeed, it had begun to rain. Liath only noticed it because the sleeting rain slid under the neck of her cloak and straight down her spine.
“I will take her back to Princess Sapientia’s tent,” said Hugh softly. “I fear the fall she took earlier has disordered her mind.”
“Let her rest here a moment,” said Rosvita. For a miracle, Hugh did not press the issue while Rosvita left Liath’s side and went into the king’s tent. Hathui followed the cleric in, leaving Hanna and a confounded Rufus to stand beside her. She swallowed tears and, through the fabric of the tent, heard Rosvita speaking to the king.
“Would it not be wisest, Your Majesty,” she asked, “to send the Eagle who has come from Gent to Count Lavastine, so that he may question her directly?”
“There is wisdom in your words, Sister,” said the king. “But my daughter is fond of the Eagle, and I wish to keep her spirits up.”
“I trust Father Hugh and her other companions can keep her spirits up, Your Majesty. But Count Lavastine will need the best intelligence if he is to have any hope of retaking Gent, surely, and you cannot afford to leave Gent in the hands of the Eika. Not when it comes time for them to raid again, and they have control of the river.”
“It is true,” spoke up Hathui, “that Liath led the refugees through the hidden tunnel so many have spoken of. If any can find it again, she can.”
Liath heard no reply from the king. Beside her, Hugh cursed softly under his breath. “Eagles,” he said curtly. “Withdraw.” Rufus did at once, but Hanna hesitated. “Go!” She backed away. “Look at me.” She kept her head down. “Liath!” he hissed, but she would not look. Let him strike her where everyone could see, even his noble peers. Let her at least have that satisfaction, even if it would make no difference in the end.