PROLOGUE (133 page)

Her dutiful daughters argued by her bedside, ignoring the half-conscious woman moaning faintly on the bed.

"Nay, I was born first. Deacon Rowena will confirm it!"

"Only because you've offered her the biscopry once Mother is dead! Everyone knows that because I have the birthmark on my chest, it means I'm firstborn."

The two young women looked ready to come to blows, and their respective attendants resembled half-starved dogs preparing to fight over a juicy bone.

Lord Wichman sprawled on the duchess' chair, legs stretched out in front of him and arms crossed on his chest, wearing a smirk on his face as he watched his older sisters shriek and quarrel while their mother suffered unregarded beside them. He hadn't even kissed his mother's hand when he'd come in the room; he hadn't looked at her at all except for a single grimace as he took in the shrunken body of the once robust woman.

"I pray you, Cousins," said Sapientia, attempting to step between them, "this dispute avails you nothing. Surely your mother knows which of you was born first. Surely a midwife attended the birth."

"The midwife is dead, poisoned by Imma!"

"Liar and whore! We weren't more than five years of age when the old woman died. I had nothing to do with it. But you've never answered how the deacon's record came to be burned up six years ago."

"Oh! As if it wasn't you who had the idea to do it, Sophie!" Wichman had paid more attention when his brother Zwentibold was brought in on a litter to be placed by the hearth, where he, too, was now dying, from wounds taken on the field. Zwentibold remained silent except, now and again, when a tormented groan escaped him and the pretty young woman who was evidently his current concubine hastened forward to dab his lips with wine. It was easy to let the gaze linger on the curve of her body under her light gown, hiding little, promising much, and easier still to notice that Wichman never took his gaze off her.

"How can it be you don't know which of you was born first?" demanded Sapientia, looking from one sister to the other. The two looked alike mostly in their broad faces and ruddy complexions, big women with years of good eating behind them. Imma had her mother's nose, while Sophie bore the red-brown hair that had, evidently, distinguished their dead father. The innocent question un leashed a torrent of abuse and accusations, hurled from one to the other.

"She always favored you!"

"Nay! She only pretended to favor me because she wanted to keep me on a leash like a dog. You're the one who got all the freedom. You're the one who gained because everyone thought you must be angling for the title!"

"I pray you, Cousins, this is no way to show respect. Duchess Rotrudis can hear every word—

"As if she hasn't enjoyed every word of it, the old bitch!"

"Hah! You licked sweetly enough the honeycomb when it still had honey on it!"

Looking half their size and having none of their shrill stridency, Sapientia was helpless to stop them while, all around, nobles and attendants crowded in, eager or aghast to see such a show. Sanglant watched as Sapientia tried to calm them down, to no avail. She saw what needed doing, but she hadn't the authorky to do it. They saw no reason to listen to her.

Wichman rose and stretched before padding over to Zwentibold's litter. The pretty attendant shrank away, but there was no way, here at Osterburg, that she could escape the son of the reigning duchess. Zwentibold had taken her, after all, with or without her consent, and Wichman clearly had decided to follow where his brother had first plunged in.

Just as Wichman, smiling with that ugly spark of unrestrained lust that marred his features, slipped a hand up the girl's ramp and tested its roundness, Sanglant strolled forward. He got hold of Wichman's other arm and jerked him forward to stand beside his sisters. Wichman resisted, pulling away.

"I would not if I were you," said Sanglant softly.” I claim her, and I'll cut off your balls if you touch her. You know what my promise is worth, Cousin."

Fuming, Wichman raked his hair back from his head and shot a leer back at Zwentibold's concubine. But he stayed where he was, next to Sophie.

Sanglant placed himself between Imma and Sophie. Even Sapientia moved instinctively back to make room for him. This close, the smell from the bed filled his nostrils, and he had to fight not to gag. Duchess Rotrudis' skin hung on her in folds. Her

once ruddy cheeks were sallow, her eyes sunken and dark. Sanglant wasn't even sure she was aware of what was going on around her.

He remembered her well enough from the days when she had been healthy. He'd never liked her, but no person could ever have said that Rotrudis did not rule the duchy of Saony effectively and with an iron hand.

"I pray you, Cousins," he said, "answer me truly. Do you hate each other more than you hate your blessed mother? Or the other way around?"

Silence crashed down, broken only by a single gasp of
amazement
from one of the stewards and a low murmuring whimper from the duchess. Had she heard, or was she merely drowning in the pain of her illness?

"For it seems to me that she must have disliked you mightily if she went to so much trouble to be sure that you would fight to the end of your days, never knowing which was truly the firstborn. She must have known, unless the midwife dropped one of you and picked up the other. If you do not know now who is eldest, then it's your mother who chose not to tell you, for her own reasons."

Wichman laughed.” She played you for fools!" he crowed.” All these years, never letting you know which God meant to be heir. She must have known all along, and just wanted to watch you dance, you stupid cows."

Sophie slapped him. He grunted, grabbed for her, only to be slugged by Imma, coming to her sister's defense. The concubine began to cry, huddled by Zwentibold's unconscious figure. Rotrudis stirred, clawing at the bedclothes, and a choked word escaped her, lost beneath the noise of her shouting children and their agitated attendants.

"Silence!" shouted Sanglant.

"Silence!" repeated Sapientia, when the noise had died down enough that she could be heard.

Everyone turned to look at Sanglant.” There's another child, isn't there?" he asked.

When it became obvious that his sisters did not intend to speak, Wichman replied.” Reginar, the little prig. He's abbot of Firsebarg Abbey now, and good riddance."

"Then he'll not be in a position to contest the inheritance?"

That got their attention.

"He's youngest, and a boy," protested Imma.” He's in no position to expect to inherit the duchy."

"Isn't it the case," continued Sanglant, "that King Arnulf the Younger settled the duchy on Rotrudis when he named Henry as his heir? Surely it must have occurred to you that if your stewardship displeases the king, he can find another worthy child out of Arnulf's many grandchildren who is fit to inherit the duchy." "How dare you suggest such a thing!" shrieked Sophie.” With what authority do you dare speak to us in this arrogant manner?" demanded Imma.

"With the authority of the army that sits outside your walls and which saved you from being sacked and murdered by the Quman." Was that a faint cackle of amusement, coming from the emaciated figure on the sickbed? Impossible to tell, since the sound was drowned out by the protests hurled at him by her 'outraged children. Sanglant merely smiled, took Sapientia by the arm, and drew her out of the chamber and down the stairs to the lower level.” You've angered them," she said.

"They're no better than a pack of jackals. But that will keep them sober for a few days."

She glanced at him sidelong. Her eyes were still red from crying, but at least she did not attack him for usurping her authority. Marriage to Bayan had restrained her worst impulses; perhaps it had also accustomed her to following a stronger personality's lead.” Would Father disinherit them? Is that what you hope to inherit? The duchy of Saony?"

"Nay, it's not what I want. But it's of no benefit to the kingdom to leave a pack of fools and quarrelers in charge. Don't forget that our great grandfather, the first Henry, was duke of Saony. This is the base of our family power. The regnant would do better to name Theophanu as duke in Rotrudis' place." He paused, waiting for an outburst, knowing how Sapientia envied Theophanu, but his sister said nothing, only listened. They crossed the length of the great hall in silence, their footfalls sounding lightly on wood as Sapientia's attendants followed at a discreet distance, whispering among themselves. Torchlight made fitful shadows dance on the walls.

Many noble folk, those who hadn't the rank or the connections to be admitted to the duchess' private chambers, had crowded in to

wait, and they, too, watched and whispered as prince and princess walked past.” Theophanu has as much right to the duchy as any of them do, and she's more fit to rule."

"She's at Quedlinhame. She could be called here."

"It might make them think twice if she brought her retinue here. But neither you nor I have the authority to name Theo as Rotrudis' heir."

" have the authority. Father named me as his heir!"

He stopped her from speaking by taking hold of her wrist and drawing her out through the double doors to the porch. Lamps hung from eaves, rocking in the breeze. A haze covered the night sky, obscuring the stars.

"Do you, Sapientia?" he asked quietly.” Do you have the authority?"

She burst into tears.

The courtyard of the ducal palace remained busy even this late at night: carts bringing in dead, wounded, or loot from the battlefield; servants attending to business despite the lateness of the hour; soldiers at rest, having nowhere else to bed down. The population of Osterburg had swelled, due to the siege, and even here within the confines of the ducal palace one could smell the press of bodies. The constant buzz of lowered voices ran like an undercurrent at the edge of his hearing, phrases caught and lost, curses, muffled laughter and heartfelt weeping, whispered gossip. In such close quarters, he had learned to shut it out.

"They won't follow me," she said hoarsely through her sobs.” They don't trust me. It was Bayan they followed and trusted all along. I could have reigned with Bayan at my side, because he made me strong. Now what shall I do?"

He guided her across the courtyard to the chapel. Lamps ringed the stone building, and an honor guard of Ungrian soldiers stood with heads bowed on either side of the doors. As one, they went down on one knee when Sapientia approached, but when she took the arm of Lady Brigida to go inside to pray, the captain of the guard beckoned to Sanglant.

"My lord prince, what do you intend for the morning?"

"We must leave at first light to hunt down as many of the Quman as possible. If we break their back now, then they won't be able to raid again, not for a good long time. Perhaps not ever, if God so wills it."

"Without our good lord, Bayan, we cannot remain long in this country," said the captain, with an expressionless glance at the woman interpreting for him.

"Then bide with me as long as it takes to destroy the Quman. That is all I ask."

"For your sake, my lord prince, and for the honor of our good lord, Bayan, we will follow you a while longer."

The Ungrian captain's translator was also his concubine, a wiry spitfire of a marchlander who had become infamous on the march for whipping to death a captured bandit whom she claimed had once raped her sister. A persistent rumor dogged her that the man had been neither bandit nor rapist but rather her innocent husband, come to fetch her back to their farm, and that she'd killed him in order to stay with her Ungrian lover. Sanglant had certainly noticed her around camp, and he certainly noticed her now. She looked like the kind of woman who would draw blood in the midst of dalliance, and you'd never notice until afterward.

"I pray you, Prince Sanglant," she added after she had translated the captain's words, "you know the Ungrians as well as any man, so they say. Are they men of honor? He's offered to take me back to his home, but he already has a wife and I'm only a common woman, not the sort a man like him would marry. He says he'll care for me and any children I have by him, as if they were legitimate. Do you think that's true?"

"Ungria is a long walk from the marchlands. Once you've gone there, you'll likely never see your old home again."

She spat on the ground, anger strong in her eyes. Her captain grinned, quickly hiding his amusement at her fierce demeanor. Or perhaps he was only nervous that Sanglant had somehow insulted her, leaving him caught between avenging the insult and angering a prince, or losing his honor by doing nothing. She was canny enough to observe his discomfort and spoke a few quick words to him before returning her attention to Sanglant.” I've nothing to return to, back in my old home. But I won't doom myself and any children I might have to poverty or slavery."