Elliott, Kate - Crown of Stars 1 (74 page)

Rosvita could not help but wonder.
"Knowledge tempted me too much,"
Brother Fidelis had said. At times like this, she knew she also was too curious. Henry
kate eiliott
might be dead and all he had worked for overthrown. Or he might have committed the terrible crime of slaying his own kin, the very crime that
—some chroniclers wrote—had brought about the fall of the Dariyan Empire. And here she stood, wondering about the history of the town of Kassel when the peace and stability of the kingdom was at stake!

"Come," she said to Theophanu, "let us sit down again and wait."

Theophanu, barely, shook her head. "It is time to saddle our horses," she said quietly. "And to gather together healers. Either we will ride to the battle to give aid to the wounded, or we will ride away."

"Away?"

Theophanu turned now, her dark lashes framing eyes as startlingly large as those of queens in ancient mosaics. She looked entirely too composed. "If Sabella wins, then Ekkehard and I must remain out of her hands at any cost. We must be prepared to ride to my Aunt Scholastica at Quedlinhame."

Rosvita placed a hand on her chest and bowed slightly, showing her respect for the young princess. Of course Theophanu was right. She had learned politics at her mother's knee, and her mother Sophia had learned politics in the court of Arethousa, where intrigue ran in webs as convoluted and dangerous as those in any court in the world of humankind.

This, then, was the choice Henry had to make, because it was long past time for him to send one of his daughters on her heir's progress. He had to choose between Sapientia, the daughter who was bold and openand yet too often did not show good judgment, and the cool, inscrutable Theophanu, who had fine political instincts but none of that vital charismatic charm that marked a sovereign as the chosen of God. One was too trusting; the other, no one trusted. No wonder Henry dreamed of placing his bastard son Sanglant on the throne.

. frater to deacon. "Get me a horse!"

The woman who made this demand of Hanna had the imperious tone of a noblewoman though she wore simple deacon's robes and her braided hair had not even a shawl to cover it. But there was nothing Hanna could do. She had no horse, having lost it to the desperate frater.

"Begging your pardon, Deacon," she said, hefting her spear just in case the woman meant to attempt an escape while Princess Sapientia's soldiers fought off the new attack, "but all who are in this train are now in the custody of King Henry."

To her surprise, the deacon laughed. "Of course, child. Do you not know me?"

Hanna could only shake her head while she stared into the woods, hoping to catch sight of the princess' troops. A few soldiers lingered. Most of the people in the supply train were down, wounded or dead, or else they milled around aimlessly with that lost look on their faces of men and women totally out of their element. Some ten paces behind the deacon lay two guards in Sabella's colors; both were dead. About five wagons beyond their bodies, Hanna suddenly saw a woman in biscop's vestments being helped onto a wagon. "Ai, Lady!" she breathed. "That is Biscop Antonia." "She must not escape," said the deacon in a hard voice. "Find me a horse, or find my niece and bring her back from the woods."

My niece.
Hanna had a horrible thought. She risked a close look at the woman's face and decided it could be true, that the resemblance could be marked in the cast of the woman's features, in her nose and jawline and piercing gaze.

She bent to one knee, swiftly, and bowed her head. "Begging your pardon, Your Grace," she said quickly.

"Never mind that!" snapped the woman. "I do not want Antonia to get away. And I have no weapon that can stop her."

Hanna obeyed her. She ran toward the woods, sure that she would get run through at any moment. But Sapientia's troops came riding back, flanked by the red dragon soldiers of Saony. The other troop of soldiers, Lavastine's skirmishers, had evidently retreated. Hanna hailed her, and the princess pulled up at once.

"Your aunt, Biscop Constance, waits for your protection," Hanna cried, grabbing hold of the reins as Sapientia's horse shied away. Hanna knew horses well enough to see that this one had, besides a nervous disposition, a heavy-handed rider, and far too much excitement to cope with. "She begs of you to stop Biscop Antonia from making her escape."

Sapientia's expressive face lit up. "Captain!" she cried, "you must find and protect Constance. Follow, you who are with me!" She urged her mount forward so quickly she tore the reins out of Hanna's hands. Perhaps thirty of her troops went with her; the rest hung back, confused or waiting for confirmation of this order from the old captain. He muttered something under his breath, then raised his voice so all the soldiers could hear him.

"You ten, you return to the wagons and protect Biscop Constance. We have more than enough soldiers here. The rest, and you soldiers from Saony, will return with me to the field where Henry fights." They began to form up. He looked down at Hanna. "Eagle! You remain with Biscop Constance."

She nodded, happy at this moment to be subject to an authority that knew what it was doing. They rode back toward the battle, whose outcome none of them knew.

So it was that, despite everything and despite several flurries of disorder caused by Sapientia's enthusiasm,
king's dragon
Biscop Antonia was taken prisoner together with her host of clerics. Duke Berengar was found, huddling underneath a wagon with only one loyal servingman at his side; he was so frightened he had pissed in his leggings. Hanna actually felt sorry for him when he was brought before a stern Biscop Constance, who, having taken command of Sapientia's forty soldiers, now controlled the supply train. But Constance showed him
— not pity, but indifference. Hanna quickly understood why: she had seen that slack-jawed gaping and sudden bursts of inappropriate laughter before. Berengar was a simpleton, and therefore a simple pawn—a mere Lion in the game of chess. He did not matter.

The person who mattered here was Biscop Antonia, who looked to Hanna's eyes rather cheered at the thought of being in Constance's power. Antonia was a kind-looking woman who did not bear herself with the haughtiness of most of the nobly-born but rather with a smiling modesty. And yet in the parley, faced with Helmut Villam, she had raged with a passion that did not appear to be part of her now.

And there was one other prize, hidden among the clerics.

"Ah," said Constance. "Come forward, Tallia. I will not hurt you, child."

The girl was led forward. She was crying, and it made her nose red. She had nothing to say for herself except to throw herself on Constance's mercy. But Hanna kept looking past her toward Antonia's clerics. They were the most unsightly mass of churchmen Hanna had ever seen; they all looked as if they had some form of pox, with red sores on their faces and hands and rashes along their chins. Several of them were coughing feebly, and one
— the most sickly of the lot—had a thin stain of blood on his hand when he lowered it from his mouth.

Ai, Lady!
thought Hanna.
What if they have the plague?

"Separate them from the others," said Constance to Sapientia, as if she had the same thought. "But I will keep Tallia and Berengar beside me."

"Are they sick?" demanded Sapientia, who had finally dismounted after riding around in the trees for a while, looking for someone else to fight. She had returned from the woods to declare she would ride back to the battle, but Constance had forestalled that with a direct order, aunt to niece, and even the brash Sapientia dared not go; against a biscop's command. Constance could not be more than four or five years older than Sapientia, but her authority far outweighed that of her brother's daughter. "I do not know if they are sick," she said now, "bull we must be cautious. I have heard many tales of the; plague in Autun, which was hard hit by a sickness some twenty years ago. Take them aside and guard them, but let none touch them." i Biscop Antonia showed no sign of the disease, nor did! the one young cleric who stood closest to her. But Constance did not look likely to let the biscop out of her sight, sickness or no. I "You will answer for what you did, Antonia," said Constance.

"We all answer to God," said Antonia reasonably.

A thunder of hooves alerted them. Sapientia's captain had returned with the rest of her troops but without the skirmishers from Saony. His expression was chilling.

"What is wrong?" cried Sapientia.

Antonia smiled knowingly.

"Good captain," said Constance in a firm but calm voice. "What news do you bring?"

He appeared stricken. "The Lord has blessed us with victory, Your Grace, but a terrible prize it is this day."

For one instant, Antonia's triumphant expression was wiped clean to show something nastier, cunning and brittle, beneath. Hanna glanced toward Constance, who looked grave
—as well she might. When she looked back at Antonia, the old biscop had regained her usual expression, as placid as a saint's, as smooth as cream, and
Hanna had to shake her head, wondering if she had imagined that other face.

"Give us your report," said Constance. Sapientia looked likely to grab her horse and gallop away, but
— after one sharp look from Constance—she stayed where she was.

The captain dismounted and knelt before her. "Victory belongs to King Henry, but at high cost. Many lie dead on the field, for Sabella used
—" Here he faltered. "—she brought a creature on the field, a terrible thing that truly must have sprung from an evil sire, and by its magic her army slew fully half or more of Henry's army—aye, indeed, almost all of his Lions—while they stood frozen on the field, held in the grip of some misbegotten enchantment."

Sapientia gasped aloud. Soldiers muttered in disbelief and horror.
Almost all of his Lions.
Hanna gulped back a sob of foreboding.

Constance raised a hand for silence, and it was granted her.

"How then did Henry win the day? If all transpired as you report?"

"I do not know. Only that a man
—a frater—threw himself on the beast and somehow it was distracted from its sorcery and killed."

Antonia said something under her breath, but Hanna could not hear. Her face remained pleasant, but her eyes had grown hard.

Constance paled. "A frater?" she asked. "What do you know of this?"

"Some say it is the son of Burchard, Duke of Avaria, but I can scarcely believe that
—" Constance lifted a hand sharply and he fell silent.

One tear rolled down Constance's cheek, and then the wind blew it away and it vanished as if it had never existed. "Take her away, out of my sight," she said, pointing at Biscop Antonia, "but guard her closely." The captain, startled, jumped to his feet and did as he was told.

"What about Sabella?" Sapientia called after the captain. "Did she escape?"

"No," said the captain as his men surrounded Biscop Antonia and led her away to one of the wagons. "Villam captured her himself, though he was sorely wounded. Some fear he will not live. She is in Henry's custody now."

Constance shut her eyes and remained that way for a long while as Antonia was taken away and lodged in a wagon under heavy guard, as Sapientia finally lost patience and called for her horse.

"Come, Eagle," called the princess. "You will ride with me."

"No," said Constance suddenly, opening her eyes. "Go if you wish, Sapientia, but I will have an Eagle by me, as is my right." She touched the gold torque at her neck.

"It is true," said Sapientia thoughtfully, tossing her head, "that your loyal Eagle reached us from Autun, and that was how Father knew to ride here." Then, strangely, she smiled. "But without an army, how can Father ride to Gent?"

"Ride to Gent?" asked Constance. "Why would Henry wish to ride to Gent?"

Sapien reined her horse aside and rode away without answering the question, back to the battlefield to meet her victorious father.

"Ai, Lady," murmured Hanna. For it was true. Henry had marched with a large army, fully eight hundred or more soldiers. He could raise more, it was true, but it would take months to raise levies from the far-flung lands of Wendar and Varre and the marchlands and more time after that to march them all the way to Gent. Sabella had lost many soldiers as well, this day; how was Henry in any case to trust the lords of Varre, who had risen against him? They might well refuse to give him an army, to save the son none of them had any love for.

They would not think about the people of Gent and

what they might be suffering. They would not think about Liath and the danger she faced. What did kings and princes care for the lives of Eagles? Like swords, they were only a tool to be used for the nobles' own gain.

KING Henry was in a foul mood. He was, indeed, in as rare a fury as Rosvita had ever seen him.

At Kassel they had received news of the victory and ridden out at once, only to arrive to find Henry pacing back and forth, back and forth, outside the hastily erected tent in which Helmut Villam lay. It was rumored Villam was dying. All of Henry's servants and the various lords and ladies in attendance on his progress looked terrified, cowering at least twenty steps from him. Henry was perfectly capable of delivering a stinging and unprovoked rebuke to any persons who placed themselves in his line of sight.