“Is the insult worse to me, or to my father?” asked Sanglant grimly. “He deserves better state than this trifling welcome.”
A monk whose face seemed familiar to Liath came forward from the group and bowed his head. “Your Highness. You are welcome here to Quedlinhame, ancient home of your father’s grandfather’s maternal lineage. I pray you, Your Highness, let me lead your horse into the town as befits your rank.”
“You are the prior?” asked Sanglant.
“I am.”
Sanglant looked at his cousin Liutgard, and for an instant Liath felt insulted in her turn, that Sanglant shouldn’t look to her first, who came first in his heart. Yet Liutgard’s understanding of court politics so far surpassed Liath’s as Liath’s understanding of sorcery exceeded Liutgard’s knowledge of the magical arts. Sanglant, being a good commander, called for spears when he needed spears and swords when he needed swords.
“Where is Mother Scholastica?” Liutgard asked. “I am surprised she has not come to greet the regnant, as is fitting.”
“Has he been anointed and crowned, my lady?” The prior did not appear cowed by the ranks of soldiers. “What of his siblings, Henry’s other children? What transpires on the field of battle—of which we have not yet heard a full accounting—may be reexamined by clearer heads.”
“As if you can possibly comprehend what we faced!” cried Liutgard, half rising in the saddle. Her horse danced sideways in response to her mood.
“We also suffered many losses in the storm. Your own heir—”
It was a cruel blow. Sanglant caught Liutgard’s horse as her hands went slack on the reins. She was felled, speechless, and he must speak for her.
“What of Duchess Liutgard’s heir?”
“Killed in last autumn’s tempest by a falling branch when she was out riding,” the prior said primly, as if some fault accrued to the girl.
“There is another daughter. Ermengard. Destined for the church, if I recall rightly.”
The prior nodded. “Mother Scholastica did all that was proper. She brought the child to Kassel to take up her sister’s place.”
Liutgard jerked the reins out of Sanglant’s hands and pressed her horse forward until it almost trampled the prior, who took several steps back as his own people crowded forward to protect him. She was hoarse with fury. “Mother Scholastica could bear these tidings to me herself, as would have been proper. Instead she allows me to come to this grief through your careless chatter!”
Sanglant turned to his captain and spoke quietly. “Fulk. We’ll set up camp.”
Fulk gave the order, and one of the sergeants blew the signal that marked the day’s end to the march. Townsfolk scattered out of the way as soldiers rolled out wagons and dismounted from their horses.
A skree reverberated from the heavens as the griffins returned. At first glance, they might appear as eagles. Within moments, however, their true nature became apparent, and the townsfolk who had lingered to chat or trade with the soldiers screamed and ran for the safety of the walls. To his credit, the prior stood his ground as the two griffins landed with a whuff of wings and a resounding thump on the ground. The poor mayor, gone corpse white, knotted her hands and began to weep.
Liutgard reined her horse aside, her face white and her hands shaking.
“Prior Methodius, my tent flies the black dragon.” Sanglant gestured casually toward the griffins. “You will also know where I camp by the presence of my attendants.”
“Have we your permission to retreat, Your Highness?” asked Prior Methodius, voice hoarse with fear.
“You may go.”
They retreated slowly, like honey oozing down a slope. They were afraid to run despite wanting badly to do so. Sanglant dismounted on the road, holding himself under a tighter rein than he did his gelding.
“I wish the griffins had torn them to bits!” cried Liutgard. “She is challenging your authority, and mine! That was a good answer to their impertinence.”
He smiled, although not with any pleasure. “I did not call the griffins. They always return about this time of day.”
“It will be taken as a sign. There is no telling what alliances your aunt has formed in the last few years. King Henry was gone from Wendar for too long. Half of the Wendish folk beg us for aid, and the other half curse at us for abandoning them. We can never trust her now. She scorns us, who served Henry best!”
“What do you say, Burchard?” Sanglant asked, seeing that Liutgard was caught up in a passion.
Duke Burchard rode at Liutgard’s left. His hands shook with a palsy, and he was always exhausted, at the end, so the poets would say, of his rope. He was not a warm man, Liath had discovered, but she respected him.
He turned his weary gaze to Liutgard. The duchess had the stamina to adjust to reversals and hardships. She had lost one husband, and must at this moment be too stunned to really absorb the news the prior had brought her.
“I will see you anointed and recognized, Your Majesty. Then I mean to go home, set my duchy in order, and die. I have seen too much.” One of his stewards helped him down from his horse and led him away to a tent, the first up, where he could lie down.
So they went, some time later, into the royal tent salvaged out of the ruins of Henry’s army. On the center pole, the red silk banner with eagle, dragon, and lion stitched in gold flew above the black dragon.
Inside, Liath sat on a stool as Sanglant paced, while his stewards and captains came and went on errands she could not keep track of. Now and again he glanced at her, as if to mark that she had not escaped him, but he listened, considered, gave orders, and countermanded two of these commands when new information was brought to him. He knew what to do. She was superfluous. Lamps were lit, and when she stepped outside to take in the texture of the chill winter air, she saw that it was almost dark.
On the road, a score of folk carrying torches approached. They halted when Argent coughed a warning cry and raised his crest.
She walked over to him. He bent his head and allowed her to scratch the spot where forearm met shoulder that he had a hard time reaching with beak or claws. His breath was meaty, and his huge eyes blinked once, twice, then cleared as the inner membrane flicked back. She should fear him; she knew that; but since Anne’s death, her reunion with Sanglant, and the departure of the Horse people, nothing seemed to scare her, not even when it should. She watched, and she listened, but she spoke little and offered less advice.
“In some ways,” she said idly to Argent as he rumbled in his throat, “it’s as if all Da’s training to be invisible has flowered. Do beasts know what their purpose is? Or do they simply exist?”
A voice raised in protest. “I pray you, Holy Mother, do not venture forward. The beasts could tear you to pieces.”
“God will watch over me.”
Liath remembered that pragmatic voice well enough; she watched from the anonymity of Argent’s shoulder as Mother Scholastica dismounted from a skittish white mule. The torchlight illuminated her. Her stern face had grown lean and lined in the manner of a woman who has had to make many difficult, distressing decisions, but her back was still straight and her stride measured and confident as she approached the tent with her attendants scuttling behind. She did not glance even once at the griffins, although her attendants could not stop looking. The entrance flap swept open and Sanglant emerged to wait for her beneath the awning.
“Aunt,” he said graciously. “You honor me.”
“Where is Henry?”
He gestured toward the interior of the tent, but certainly he turned and went inside first, and she allowed him to do so, giving him precedence. A trio of clerics scurried in after her. Others waited outside, huddled under the awning as they whispered and, at intervals, cast glances into the night where the griffins waited. After a moment Liath realized that naturally they could see only shadows; she could see them because of the pair of lit lamps hanging from the awning and, of course, because of her salamander eyes.
She
gave Argent a last vigorous scratch and went back to the tent. The clerics stared at her, but the guardsmen nodded and made no comment as she slipped past them.
“I bring unwelcome tidings, Liutgard,” Scholastica was saying.
“You bring no tidings at all,” replied Liutgard caustically. “I have already heard the news.”
Even this disrespectful greeting did not jolt Scholastica’s composure. Sanglant indicated that the abbess should sit in the camp chair to his left normally reserved for Liutgard. The stool to his right sat empty. He noted Liath’s entrance with a glance, but otherwise kept his attention on his aunt.
“Where did Henry’s death take place? In what manner did you find him? How can you verify that he was in thrall to this daimone? What of Queen Adelheid? Whose blow killed him? Where is his corpus now?”
“We brought his heart and bones from the south.”
“His remains must be buried at Quedlinhame beside his mother.”
“Naturally. Why else would I have come here, Aunt?”
“To be anointed as regnant. Do not trifle with me, Sanglant. Liutgard and Burchard support you. Yet rumor has it that you abandoned Sapientia in the wilderness.”
“Never did any sour soul deserve that fate more!” laughed Wichman from the corner.
“Silence!”
It was startling to see Wichman cowed as he ducked his head and murmured, “I pray for your pardon, Aunt.”
“Do not mock. I will not tolerate it What of Sapientia, Sanglant? Are you responsible for her death?”
“We do not know if she lives, or is dead.”
“Among the Quman savages, living is surely like death. We are not like the Salians or the Aostans or the Arethousans. We Wendish do not kill our relatives in our quest for power.”
“I do not seek power, Aunt. I seek order, where it seems there is no other who can grant it. You witnessed the events of last autumn. We felt its effects most bluntly. I have soldiers who are scarred from burns they suffered in that wind and others who died coughing with ash in their lungs. I did what had to be done. That it is not worse with Wendar’s army is due to my efforts. I will not have it said otherwise.”
“So I witnessed.” Liutgard stood with shoulders locked back, arms and neck rigid. “So I will swear, as will all of my soldiers and attendants.”
“So I will swear,” said Burchard wearily, “although my own daughter perished.” He paused to touch Liutgard on the arm before continuing. “What became of Princess Sapientia I do not know, only what reports have been spoken of, but she could not have held the army together. Henry willed the kingdom to Sanglant on his dying breath. This I witnessed. This I swear.”
Liath had by this time crept around the wall of the tent as nobles and guardsmen shifted to make way for her, not betraying her by giving her more notice than they would to a faithful hound seeking its master. She wasn’t sure whether their deference annoyed her or placated her. She would never become used to this life. Never. But as Scholastica examined Burchard’s seamed face, Liath slipped onto the stool beside Sanglant and hoped no one would call attention to her arrival, which no one did. There were five sturdy traveling lamps placed on tripods and another four hanging from the cross poles. The light gave every face a waxy quality, too bright, but there also gleamed on one wall the unfurled imperial banner. Gold-and-silver thread glinted in the crown of stars, which was embroidered on cloth and stained with tracks of soot that no one had been given permission to wash out. Even the rents and tears in the fabric had been left. The Wendish banner had been washed and repaired, but not the imperial one.
“It is not part of our law for the bastard child to inherit,” said Scholastica, “but I have observed that laws are silent in the presence of arms. That Liutgard and Burchard speak for you gives strength to your case.” She looked at each duke in turn, as if her disapproval could change their minds, but Burchard merely sighed and Liutgard glared back at her. “Let Theophanu and Ekkehard agree, and it will be done.”
“I have already sent Eagles to Osterburg.”
“I sent Eagles and messengers out as well, when I heard rumor of your coming. While you wait for their arrival, you must disperse your army. I cannot feed so many for more than three days. Our stores are already low. The weather bodes ill for the spring.”
“I will keep my army beside me.”
“Will you take by force that which you can only win with God’s favor, and the agreement of your peers?”
His frown was quick but marked. Unlike his father, Sanglant did not rage easily, and a few men muttered to see him brush the edge of anger. “I did not seek this position. I am my father’s obedient son. I have done only what he wished.”
“A man may turn away from a platter of meat when he has just eaten, only to crave it when he hungers. We are not unchanging creatures, Nephew. We wax and wane like the moon, and at times we change our minds about what it is we want. Although, I see, some things have not changed.” She gestured toward Liath. “The last, if not the first, or so your grandmother divined. Your concubine?”
“My wife,” he said, his irritation even more pronounced.
“An Eagle is your wife?” she asked, as if he had claimed to have married a leper.
“Liathano is of noble birth out of Bodfeld.”
“A minor family which can bring no worthwhile alliance to your position. Surely it would be wiser to seek a more advantageous match. Duke Conrad’s daughter, or Margrave Gerberga of Austra’s youngest sister, Theucinda. Margrave Waltharia herself, if it is true that her husband died on your expedition, leaving her free. There was some interest there before, between the two of you, I believe.”
“I have what I need.”
Scholastica turned her gaze and examined Liath with a look meant to intimidate. Strangely, Liath found herself caught between an intense boredom at the prospect of having to endure much more of this sparring and at the same time a feeling of being wrung so tight that like Sanglant she could not sit restfully but kept tapping one foot on the carpet.
“Your mother was a heathen?” asked Scholastica at last.
“No, not really, Holy Mother,” said Liath, aware of how disrespectful she sounded and, for this instant, just not caring.
“A Daisanite woman of black complexion whom your father impregnated?”
“My mother was a daimone of the upper air, imprisoned by the woman who later made herself skopos. My father loved her. I am the result of that passion.”
Was that a smile that shifted the lines in that grim expression, even for an instant? Liath had no idea, but she saw that such a bald statement did not confound the abbess although her three clerics made little noises of astonishment. In some cases, a smile is a sword.
“Do you have a soul?” the abbess asked kindly.
Half the people in the tent gasped, while the other half, shocked into silence, stared. Sanglant shifted, ready to rise and confront this challenge, but Liath set a hand on his forearm and he quieted, although she could feel the tension in his muscles, a hound barely leashed and poised to lunge.
“Are not all creatures created by God? I am no different than you, Mother Scholastica.”
Her eyes narrowed and her mouth thinned, but it was impossible tell if she were offended or intrigued. “So you say. I understand that you are educated.”
“Yes, I am educated as well as my father was able to teach me. I can read and write in three languages.”
“You were condemned as a maleficus.”
“I am not one. I was educated as a mathematicus.”
“You admit it publicly, knowing that the church condemned such sorcery at the Council of Narvone? That you were excommunicated in absentia by a council at Autun?”
“I am not afraid of the church, Mother Scholastica.” She was surprised, more than anything, at how weary she felt in defending herself, and how peculiar it was to be shed at long last of the fear that had so long hunted her. Da had taught her to fear; it was the only defense he had known.
“I believe in God, just as you do. I pray to God, just as you do. I am no heretic or infidel. You cannot harm me if my companions refuse to shun me, and the skopos and her mages are dead.”
As soon as she spoke the words, she knew them ill said. The abbess stiffened and turned deliberately away from her.
“I am not accustomed to being spoken to in this manner, Sanglant,” said Mother Scholastica. “Especially not by one who was excommunicated. I have heard tales of this woman. She is infamous for seducing and discarding men.”
“So you believe,” said Sanglant. “I know otherwise.”
“Even your father was not immune.”
“My father was betrayed by his second wife, a pretty woman of impeccable noble lineage.”
“Will your fate run likewise, Nephew?”
He laughed curtly. “Liathano has already made her choice, and I had no say in it. I will not beg her to stay, nor can I prevent her from leaving.”
“Then why do you stay?” the abbess asked Liath, carefully not using her name, as if she were a creature that could not possess a name and therefore a human existence.
“Because I love him.”
“Love is trifling compared to obligation, faith, and duty. Passion waxes and wanes like the moon of which we have spoken. It is more fragile than a petal torn from a rose. You may even believe that your motives spring from disinterested love, but you have not answered my question. What do you want?”
Liath had no answer.
2
“I pray you, Sanglant, forgive me. I haven’t the patience for court life.”
“No,” he agreed.
She sat on the pallet they shared, watching him where he sat cross-legged at the tent’s entrance. He twitched the flap open and looked away from her to stare out into the camp. The ring of sentry fires burned steadily; a few shapes paced, as he wished he could. In the royal tent he had room to pace, but he had acceded to Liath’s wishes weeks ago and set aside a smaller tent where they could sleep alone.
Even in Gent he hadn’t slept alone but rather with a pack of dogs as his attendants.
She coughed, bent slightly to scratch her thigh. He glanced at her. She had stripped down to a light linen shift so worn it was translucent. A lamp hung from the crossbeam of the tent, and by its flame he admired how the fabric curved and layered around breast and thigh and hip.