“You did not see them enter within the walls?”
“I did not. But the man I rode with, Wolfhere, bound my comrade Manfred and me to him with various small devices. Had he died, I believe I would know of it.”
“Ah,” said Henry, one eyebrow arching. “Wolfhere.”
To Rosvita, mostly, one Eagle was much like another. Nobleborn boys and girls were given their own retainers when they came of age or, if circumstances warranted, they served with the Dragons. Service as a king’s messenger or in the king’s infantry was relegated to the children of freeholders, not those of noble birth. But every cleric in the king’s chapel and schola knew Wolfhere by sight or at least by reputation. There was no Eagle senior to him, and it was sometimes whispered—though not so often these days—that he knew many things beyond the ken of human knowledge. He had been in favor during the reign of the younger Arnulf; some claimed he had too much influence over Arnulf, especially for a man not born into a noble family. That favor had ended within a year of Henry’s ascent to the throne. Wolfhere had been banished from the king’s presence. Rosvita did not know why.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The woman had a strong gaze, and she was not afraid to look King Henry in the face. “I am proud to call him praeceptor.” Instructor and guide. She used the Dariyan word deliberately. Rosvita guessed she knew something, at least, of Wolfhere’s reputation at court.
Henry’s lips turned up. Rosvita knew him well enough, after all this time, to see he admired the young Eagle’s forthright manner. “How long have you served in my Eagles, and what is your name and lineage?”
“For seven years I have served in the Eagles, mostly in the marchlands. I joined as soon as I came of age. I am named Hathui, daughter of Elseva, a freeholder in Eastfall.”
“And your father?”
“My father was called Volusianus. He was also born of free parents. But alas, Your Majesty, he was killed while in the service of King Arnulf, fighting the Redari.”
The king glanced toward Villam, who gazed benignly at the young woman. Rosvita remembered well the last war against the Redari; it had taken place in the final year of Arnulf’s reign and was mostly fought in the March of the Villains. Indeed, the lands over which the Villains held authority had greatly expanded after the capitulation of the Redari tribesmen and their conversion to the faith of the Unities.
“After his death, my mother and her sister and brother were among those who traveled east of the Eldar River with grants given them by King Arnulf, to take lands for themselves, under the authority of no lord or lady.”
“Except that of the king.”
She bent her head slightly, acknowledging the truth of his words. “Except that of the king,” she repeated.
Henry lifted his left hand, signing her to rise. “You will travel with my court, Hathui, daughter of Elseva, and serve me.” This signal honor was not lost on the gathered assembly, who were no doubt wondering how much the king intended to favor this commoner. Rosvita examined the courtiers. Who would be first to attempt to befriend the Eagle and who first to attempt to bring about her downfall?
Hathui seemed untroubled by this sign of favor. “And my comrade, Hanna, daughter of Birtha and Hanal? She is new to the Eagles and has little experience, less training, and no kin nearby.”
“She may join us as well. You may act as her praeceptor.”
It occurred to Rosvita suddenly that Henry was rewarding the two Eagles for another reason: for bringing him news of his son.
“We must consider an army,” he said, turning to Villam. “How soon can we ride to Gent?”
3
AFTER her initial shock wore off, Hanna found herself more frustrated than honored by her elevation to one of those exalted Eagles who waited in personal attendance upon King Henry.
Not because of Henry, of course. He was everything she had ever dreamed a king would be; stern but with the capacity for laughter; elegant in appearance and yet without the kind of vanity that leads men to wear fine clothes and jewels for the sake of showing off their riches; gracious without being friendly; unwilling to tolerate incompetence and delay.
But there was only so much a king could do when it came time to attempt to move his vast entourage—the king’s progress—quickly, or when it came time to raise an army from lands as far apart as the northwesternmost reaches of the duchy of Saony, the highlands far to the south of Avaria, and the distant marchlands to the east.
Raised by a briskly efficient innkeeper, Hanna was amazed at how slow everything moved and how many arguments there were between chatelaines and stewards and lordlings over fine points of status and honor that would make not one whit of difference to the people trapped in Gent if the Eika broke through the city’s walls.
“At this rate they’ll be dead before we leave this monastery,” she muttered to Hathui that evening as she watched yet another noble lord—a young woman in this case—making excuses before the king as to why it would take her some unreasonable number of days to raise levies and then yet again longer beyond that to march those levies as far north as Gent. Lady bless! Beyond being maddening, it was also boring. She stifled a yawn and felt Hathui shift her weight. “How is your leg?”
“It will do,” said Hathui. “Attend to your duties. Who is that?”
“What?”
“Who is that speaking before the king?”
Hanna stared, but she could not tell one noble lordling from another; they all ran together in her mind in their handsome embroidered gowns or tunics and gold-braided leggings and fine necklaces and rings.
“That is part of your duty, Hanna,” said Hathui sternly, sounding much like Wolfhere. “You must memorize all the great houses of Wendar and Varre and learn the names of the lords and ladies of those lineages and their alliances by marriage and kinship and oaths, and which dislike whom and who wishes to marry for advantage where, and what estates have lost their lady and thus are being willed to the church or given to the king to reward to some family who has done him a signal service.”
“Ai, Lady,” swore Hanna under breath. “All that?”
“And more besides.” But Hathui grinned, taking the threat out of the words. “That is Liutgard, duchess of Fesse. Because Fesse lies in the center of the kingdom, it is a long ride from there to Gent, which lies to the northeast. Also, the duchy of Fesse lies next to the duchy of Arconia, which is the duchy administered by Henry’s half sister Sabella. Surely you have heard the rumors that Sabella plans to rebel against the king?”
Hanna had heard so many rumors just in the eight hours since she and Hathui had arrived at Hersford Monastery that she had given up trying to sort one out from the next. “And? What difference does that make to Duchess Liutgard?”
“This difference: that Liutgard does not want to send away troops to Gent, which lies many days’ march north and east, when her own lands might be threatened by Sabella. Henry must balance the threat to Gent against the threat to Fesse.”
Hanna sighed. “How do you keep this all straight?”
“That is only the beginning.”
But Hanna could see Hathui was laughing at her, not without sympathy. “Was it difficult for you, when you first came into the Eagles? Did it all seem like so many names that had no meaning attached to them?”
Hathui shrugged. “When Wolfhere is your praeceptor, you never admit you are struggling. But, in truth, it did seem difficult. After a time, though, I began to sort them all out. You must know the name of every villager in Heart’s Rest, do you not? And in the neighboring farms and hamlets?”
“Of course!”
“Well, then, think of the noble lords and ladies who move on the king’s progress as a village. Some remain in the village all the time; others come and go according to what duties they have on their family’s estates. Truly, Hanna, they are no different from common men and women. I have observed they have their feuds and their secret lovers, their alliances and their disagreements, just as any folk do. They sleep and eat a
nd pray and use the privies. I am not convinced that, if you were to put one of them in a simple freeholder’s smock and any hardworking freeholder into an elegant tunic, you could tell who was the noble lord and who the farmer.”
“Hathui!”
But Hathui only smiled her proud marchlander’s smile and signed that Hanna should attend to the proceedings again.
Attend Hanna did. For some odd reason, Hathui’s shocking opinions made it easier for her to sort out one noble from the other. That thin glaze of intimidation had worn off, shorn away forever by Hathui’s blunt observations. She noticed the old counselor—the margrave Helmut Villam—yawning as Duchess Liutgard promised she would ride out at dawn the next day with her retinue. But it would still take some weeks before a levy could be raised, and longer still to march that force across the kingdom.
The very young man standing beside Villam—his son, that was it, though Hanna could not remember what the boy’s name was or if she had even heard it yet—fidgeted and looked very much as if he wished to be somewhere else. Hanna’s milk brother Ivar had that look sometimes when he was thinking about another prank to play or some expedition into the forest he wanted Hanna to come along for; Ivar was the sort of person who was either full of a manic energy or gloomily downcast.
How was Ivar faring now? Had he reached Quedlinhame Cloister yet, to begin his life as a monk? Hanna was a bit unclear on distances within the kingdom and where all the different cities and cloisters were. But one thing Hanna did know: Ivar would not take well to cloister walls. He was bound to get into some kind of mischief.
She sighed. Ai, Lady. There was nothing she could do for Ivar, not now. She had chosen Liath over Ivar and now, as if to punish her for her choice, the Lady had granted she be separated from both of them.
Duchess Liutgard finished her business with the king and moved back to make room for a noblewoman who appeared to be about the same age as Henry. This woman wore her years proudly. Her hair was coiled into long braids and pinned back; though it was gray now, Hanna could see it had once been a rich brown.
Hathui leaned to whisper in Hanna’s ear. “Judith, margrave of Olsatia and Austra.”
The margrave informed Henry that she would ride immediately to her estates in Austra and raise at least two hundred men to ride to Gent.
“And do not forget that my son Hugh is abbot at Firsebarg now. If you will send word to him, I know he can send a contingent to reinforce yours, Your Majesty.”
Hugh! Hanna did not breathe for a moment. She had almost forgotten Hugh, but staring at this imposing woman she was struck anew by memory of him. Judith was a woman of mature years, broad in girth and dignified of manner. She had delicate features not yet obscured by old age, and Hanna could see Hugh’s features there: the sharp planes of his handsome face, the bright, deep-set eyes, the haughty expression. But the margrave’s hair had obviously been dark, quite unlike Hugh’s light hair. Was it true that Hugh’s father had been a slave from Alba, whose men were renowned for their golden-haired beauty?
“Don’t be a fool, Hanna,” she whispered to herself. Instantly she wondered how Liath fared. Had they gotten into Gent safely? Was Liath well? Injured? Dead? Did Hugh think of Liath still? Of course he never thought of people like Hanna at all. What if he led a contingent of soldiers to Gent? Could Wolfhere protect Liath from Hugh when he did not understand what had taken place over that winter at Heart’s Rest?
Hathui’s fingers grazed her elbow, a reassuring touch, though surely Hathui couldn’t guess what she’d been thinking. And Hanna had no desire to betray such feelings to anyone else, not when she was herself ashamed of them, knowing how viciously Hugh had treated Liath. This was no time for such nonsense, as her mother would say. She shook herself and attended to the business at hand.
Later, after the audiences were over, Hathui was sent to the king’s physician and Hanna was sent to the guest house where the king’s children made their residence.
Hanna paused inside the door while the two guards posted there—by their gold tabards sewn with a black lion members of Henry’s Lion infantry—examined her curiously.
Hanna was more curious about the king’s children. Ekkehard was young, still in the schola, not yet old enough to be given a retinue of his own and sent out into the world as an adult. Right now he sat beside one of his sisters, who accompanied him on a lute. He had a beautiful voice.
“When the ships came down from the north
And he saw the gleam of gold in their belly,
Then he plunged into the waters
Though they were as cold as his mother’s heart,
Then plunged into the waters
And swam until he reached them.
With his sword he killed the watchmen
With his knife he killed the steersman
And the oar slaves bowed before him
And begged for him to tell his tale.
When he captured the ships,
This was his song.”
That was Theophanu, accompanying him. Though the king’s court was in a constant hum, and had been since morning, she sat calmly and strummed a lute in time to her brother’s sweet singing.
The other sister, small and dark and neat, was Sapientia. She paced back and forth, back and forth, like a caged animal. Hanna took a hesitant step forward. Sapientia saw her, began to rush toward her, then stopped short, recalling her position. She beckoned.
“Do you have a message for me, Eagle?” she demanded.
Without losing track of the song, Theophanu raised her eyes briefly to take in the scene and went back to her playing. Ekkehard sang on, oblivious.
Hanna dropped to touch a knee to the floor. “Yes. King Henry charges you to go now to the smith’s quarters.”
“Hai!” said Sapientia under her breath, exultant. She turned and gestured to her servingwomen, who sat sewing near the fire. “Come!” she said, and strode out so quickly they had to drop their sewing work on the bench and had not even time to grab cloaks before running out after her.
Hanna hesitated. Ekkehard was well into the song by now, a song within a song, really, wherein the hero Sigisfrid relates to the hapless oar slaves his many great deeds as well as revealing for the first time his forbidden love for his cousin Waltharia, the love that would doom them both. Ekkehard had, in fact, an astonishing command of the epic. Hanna had heard old master bards sing from the great epic while taking a night’s lodging at the inn, and while Ekkehard’s rendition was clearly immature, it was still compelling.
Theophanu glanced up again to study Hanna. The princess’ gaze was clear and completely unreadable. Suddenly self-conscious, Hanna backed away and ran right into one of the Lions.
He steadied her with a grin. “Begging your pardon, my friend,” he said. “You rode in from Gent with the other Eagle, this morning.”
“Yes.”
“You’re new to the Eagles?”
She nodded. She didn’t quite trust him: He was a good-looking young man, and the few good-looking men in Heart’s Rest—like her brother Thancmar—were, in her experience, full of themselves.
He opened the door, grinned at his companion guard, and followed her outside. “Where are you barracked tonight?” he asked. He did have a pleasant smile, and a pleasing face, and very nice shoulders, but Hanna loathed men who were full of their own self-importance. All, except Hugh. She shoved that thought away.
“With the Eagles, I expect,” she said coldly. “Wherever they sleep.”
He considered. In the torch-lit entryway, he did not appear downcast or offended by her rejection. In fact, she was not entirely sure he had taken her words as rejection. “Well, if we’ll not be barracked together,” he said quickly, glancing behind him. “I’m on duty, so I haven’t time to talk. You were at Gent. Did you see the Dragons there?”
“We saw one company of them, but I never got inside the city. We turned back, Hathui and I.”
“Was there a woman with them, do you know?”
“A woman? With the Dragons? Not that I noticed.”
“Ai.” He grimaced, disappointed. Had he a sweetheart among the Dragons? Having misjudged him, she suddenly found him rather attractive. “My sister rides with the Dragons.”
“Your sister?”
He laughed outright. “You’re thinking a common-born lad like me has no business having a sister in the Dragons.”
Since she was thinking so, she did not deny it.
“It’s true most of them are nobleborn, bastards usually, or younger sons without a bequest to get them into the church. But my sister never wanted anything except to fight. She dedicated herself to St. Andrea very young, before even her first bleeding, and couldn’t be swayed. She joined the Lions, bludgeoned her way into them, more like. I followed after her.”
Hanna remembered how her young brother Karl had looked at her the day she rode away from the Heart’s Rest as a newly-hatched Eagle. Had this young man watched his sister ride away so? Had he followed her, years later, because of that admiration?
“She distinguished herself,” the Lion continued, eager to talk about his sister in front of a new audience. “Saved the Dragon banner, she did. Some say she saved the prince’s life, although others say no man or woman can do that. That he’s under a geas, spoken on him when he was an infant by his mother, that he can’t be killed by mortal hands or some such kind of thing. Ai, well. I say she saved his life.”
“I didn’t see her,” repeated Hanna, sorry she hadn’t. “What’s her name?”
“Adela.” He touched a hand to his chest and gave a little bow, a courtly gesture no doubt picked up from watching the noble lords. When he smiled, he had a dimple. “And I’m called Karl.”