PROLOGUE (101 page)

Conrad's head snapped around as his daughter stiffened, looking indignant and frightened. Abruptly, the interpreter gave a grunting moan, grasped his belly, and without a word or excuse to anyone bolted onto the grass. He hadn't gotten more than one hundred paces before he doubled over and began to retch. Bulkezu sipped at his mare's milk. By the way his dimple flashed in and out on his cheek, Hanna could tell he was working very hard not to laugh.

"Good Lord," said Conrad, observing the stricken interpreter.” I'd heard rumors. Do you think they've brought the plague with them?"

"You must consider it, Conrad," said Theophanu.” All the more reason to make short work of this. The girl in exchange for their departure."

He rose threateningly, dark cheeks changing color.” Marry him yourself, Theophanu. You've wanted a husband for a long time now."

"When my father returns—

"Tfyour father returns."

She went on as if he had not spoken.” When my father returns, I'll do my duty at his command. It's long past time for you to do

yours and give your daughter up where she's needed. Times are desperate."

"And will get more desperate still without my support." The angrier he got the louder he spoke; they had given up murmuring as they argued.” Why should I aid you, Theophanu? Why should I aid Wendar at all, now that your father seems determined to desert us in favor of chasing down imperial feasts into Aosta? He's stripped Wendar of its army, and cleaned out my warehouses and levies in Wayland, so what will you use to fight the invaders—"

"For God's sake, my lord and lady," Hanna cried, "he can understand every word you say!"

She had never known anyone to move that fast.

He hit her so hard across the face that she actually blacked out. Of the gap between the pain of the blow and the ground smashing into her shoulder, she remembered nothing. Acid burned in her throat. Lights danced in her vision. She couldn't feel her legs. Distantly, she heard Boso's wretched coughs as he heaved up again, and again.

"I would not try that, Duke Conrad," said Bulkezu pleasantly.” I'm protected from harm by a cloak of my brother's weaving. But I won't hesitate to signal if there's any trouble. I can have Prince Ekkehard's head delivered to you," he snapped his fingers, "like that, if you wish it. Perhaps you've noticed my companion on the march, who grants me her strength. Don't you recognize Judith of Austra?"

Hanna still couldn't make any of her limbs work, but her hearing had sharpened.

"Oh, my God," said Conrad.” For God's sake, Milo," he said in a low voice, "take my daughter back to the fort. At once." After a stifled protest, footsteps moved hastily away.

"I would grieve at my brother's death," said Theophanu smoothly, as if nothing untoward had happened, as if she and Conrad hadn't betrayed their secrets, as if Bulkezu hadn't walked them through the oldest trick in the ancient tales. As if Wendish quarreling weren't the greatest weakness of all, just as Bulkezu had said.” As I mourn for Margrave Judith. But alas, Prince Bulkezu, just so we understand each other, he is only King Henry's third child."

"His fourth, surely, or did one of the elder two die?"

Sensation returned to her fingers. She got her bound hands under her and pushed herself up. Her head spun, and she almost threw up as she got to her knees. Conrad and Theophanu became four, and then eight, and slowly receded back into two.

"I believe we have told you more than enough," said Theophanu, "without receiving anything in return. Give me the Eagle. She's of no possible use to you."

"How can you know what is of use to me?" He called an order in his own language. Her right eye was already swelling shut, and the whole right side of her face throbbed agonizingly. Dust kicked into her face as she coughed out spittle colored by blood. Hands grabbed her and jerked her roughly to her feet. The fast movement was too much. She threw up, but the man holding her had no mercy. He simply dragged her away as she vomited. The world darkened as she fought unconsciousness.

Was that Theophanu, asking in that passionless voice to have the Eagle returned? All she could distinguish as the light hazed over and she gasped for air was Bulkezu's hated voice answering.

"Five thousand pounds of silver and one thousand of gold, and I'll ride past Barenberg with my army and leave it and the lands around it untouched."

She passed out.

She woke at the touch of hands pressing a poultice against her throbbing cheek. The cool mash reeked of mustard, and it stung. She opened one eye. Struggled a moment, panicking, until she realized the other eye was swollen shut, not gouged out.

Cherbu sat next to her, humming under his breath. He held a cup to her lips. Warm liquid steamed up her nose. The smell soothed her headache. Sipping, she got a bit of the broth down without feeling queasy, was even able to lever herself up and swallow the rest. The light in the small tent had splintered into dozens of colors. It took her a moment to realize that she was lying inside the shaman's patchwork tent, on a sheepskin. The ground lurched violently under her, and the patchwork ceiling swayed as they began to move.

Cherbu slipped out through the tent flap and leaped down. She caught sight of mounted men, a tree lurching past, and the sun shining through leaves before the tent flap slapped back into place. The wagon jolted on; despite the jerky motion, she fell into a fit ful doze, starting awake whenever she was flung to one side or the Other because of a hole or bump. At intervals Cherbu returned to change her poultice or give her a fresh infusion of broth. Strangely, j despite the uncomfortable journey, she felt increasingly better as the day wore on and could even eventually crack open her right eye.

She felt, in truth, mildly optimistic when the wagon lumbered to a halt and she heard the familiar noises of folk moving about setting up camp. She peeled the poultice off her face before gingerly climbing out of the back of the wagon. She needed to pee, and wanted to get a look around.

Her legs and arms worked. Her face still hurt, but she could actually open and shut her eye and squinch up her cheek without much pain. She found enough privacy around at the front of the wagon to do her business, then surveyed the situation, the placement of the army, herds, and captives in a broad clearing surrounded by forest.

Maybe there was a chance they had forgotten about her.

Maybe not.

There came Cherbu with a cup of steaming broth. She drank it gratefully. Hunger stirred; her belly growled softly. Cherbu beckoned, and she followed him to the round tent surmounted by the Pechanek banner. Bulkezu strolled out to meet her with a smirk on his face, a cold light in his gaze, and, amazingly, Boso at his side.

The interpreter looked much improved, remarkably so, since she had last seen him throwing up during the parley, but perhaps it was only glee over her impending punishment.” Be afraid, woman. His Dreadfulness has had enough of your disobedience and disrespectful words."

Was it actually possible that Boso hadn't realized what had happened at the parlay? Didn't he know that Bulkezu could understand him? Or was she the fool, thinking all along that Boso hadn't known? She staggered, head swimming, and fought to keep her balance, to keep her dignity.

"His patience is at an end because you've made him very angry."

A cold fear crept into her gut as the silence dragged out. A few slaves stopped to stare, but Bulkezu's guards chased them away. He wasn't one for the big public gesture, not like the Wendish nobles, who raised up and threw down their favorites in the middle of court so that everyone could see. He was a man who kept his grudges personal.

Boso actually sniggered; so aroused was he by the expectation of her imminent downfall that he forgot to be sarcastic.” You can keep your clothes and your Eagle's cloak, so no one forgets who you are. But all other protections Prince Bulkezu withdraws."

She found her voice, hoarse as it was.” You mean he's going to hand me over to Princess Theophanu?"

Boso guffawed, giggling helplessly. Bulkezu's expression didn't change. Four guards came forward. If she fought, they'd see how desperately frightened she was. Hadn't Sorgatani's luck protected her? Wouldn't the Kerayit shaman watch over her? She looked toward Cherbu, but he had already wandered away into the trees.

Had she really believed in any savior but Bulkezu's whim, which had now turned cold?

"You thought yourself better than the rest," said Boso.

"No more than did you," she murmured, but she could barely get the words out. It hurt to talk. The impassive guards moved in around her, lances raised. She took a step back, flushed and perspiring as the sun slid out from behind the clouds and beat down upon her.

They advanced, and she retreated, step by step, until she realized that they were driving her, as they would drive a cow or a ewe, back to the miserable crowd of prisoners scattered like so many wilting flowers through the clearing. No longer was she Bulkezu's honored hostage, his model prisoner. She was just one more hapless captive left to stagger along in the wake of the army, one short step in front of the lances of the rear guard.

Most of the captives had collapsed in the grass, trying to cover their heads against the glare of the sun. Few had survived the night of the slaughter, and perhaps because of that, the plague had not surfaced again in the train of Bulkezu's army. He had raced ahead, leaving the plague behind, but he still took prisoners and he still dragged them along for his amusement, for his assaults, for whatever sick reason he had, if he had reasons at all beyond laying waste.

A few, those not yet so weakened by their ordeal that they no ticed nothing beyond the next sip of gruel, raised themselves up to watch as Hanna was pressed back into their midst.

More than anything, she noticed the stink of so many unwashed bodies, open sores, pools of diarrhea and urine and vomit spreading from those too sick to crawl away from their own sickness, all of it a sink of despair. Flies buzzed everywhere, feasting on infected eyes and filth-encrusted hands. Surely plague was hiding here, waiting to burst out again as it had that awful night.

Ai, God, if truth be told, she was more afraid of the plague than she was of Bulkezu.

A man sporting a black-and-blue eye and drooping folds of flesh at his chin heaved himself up from the ground and spat at her.” Whore! I see you got what you deserved at long last. I hope you got pleasure of what that demon gave you, while he was giving, because you'll get no such pleasure here."

His comrade, a tall man dressed in rags, lurched forward to grab for her.” I'd like a taste of his leavings!" He got a hand on her shoulder.

She ducked, by some miracle found a stout stick in the grass, and whacked him across the face. He was a lot bigger than she was, but she'd been eating and he hadn't. Staggering, he stumbled back and sat down hard. Pain stabbed through her cheek, but she dared show no weakness.

Yet no one laughed, or protested, or reacted at all. Most of them were too ill and exhausted even to care, even to hate. The Quman guards moved off, leaving her standing in the midst of the pack with a pounding headache and a swollen face.

"I am also a prisoner, a commoner from Wendar, just as you are. A King's Eagle, taken captive in the east—

Even a starving man can feed on hate, if he's nothing left to him.

"Whore and traitor," said one of the women listlessly. She had a bundle of dirty rags clutched to her chest, but it was only when she shifted that Hanna saw she held a sickly child, eyes crusted shut with dried pus. Flies crawled over the child's pallid face, but neither it nor its mother had enough strength to brush them away.

In the distance a river ran noisily. She smelled water, although the trees hid it from view. Most of the prisoners were looking at her now. Good Wendish folk, just like her.

The tall man coughed and braced himself on his hands as he caught his breath. When he grinned, she saw that all of his front teeth were missing.” You'll have to sleep sometime."

She spoke to the others.” Don't you see? The more we quarrel among ourselves, the easier his victories come."

No one answered. After a bit, the tall man and his companion dragged themselves off to the edge of the group. As for the rest, they were too weary, too hungry, and too apathetic to do anything but lie back down on the ground and close their eyes.

The Quman guards did not stop her as she gathered grass and, after several abortive attempts, wove a shallow basket and lined it with leaves. They shadowed her as she made her way through a narrow patch of woodland to the river's shore and knelt in the shallows. Upstream she saw only forest, but far downstream she saw a line of smoke rising into the sky.