Elliott, Kate - Crown of Stars 3 (107 page)

"Pray do not give me into my mother's keeping!" Tallia would not relinquish her grip on Henry's feet, nor did her hoarse sobs quiet. Hanna hoped devoutly that Alain was not one of those Lions on guard duty right now, so that he would be spared this humiliating scene.

Henry had some trouble keeping his balance with Tallia dragging at him like an anchor, but he was able to signal to his servants, and they moved to open the great doors. He clenched one hand and squared his shoulders, as if bracing for a blow.

From where Hanna stood, she could not see the doors pushed open, but a wind blew in from outside and on its sharp summer breath followed an entourage of richly clad servants and noble companions with the jewel of their party glittering in their midst in tawny velvet robes ornamented with gold-embroidered sleeves. Her dark hair was shot through with silver, although she was still robust—she had been born out of a sturdy line. She wore the gold torque of royal kinship at her neck, and she strode forward with no more than a perfunctory nod for the biscop who was her jailer.

"My God. Can this truly be my offspring lying here on the floor like the lowest sniveling beggar? The years have not improved her." She turned to regard her brother with a sudden half smile. "Well, Henry, I hear my stepmother is dead, and I'm sorry for it, for she never treated me ill even if she did push her own children forward to take what was rightfully mine. You look tired, Brother. I hear we are to feast together tonight." Tallia had broken out into fresh screams, as if she were being knifed to death. She rolled herself so hard against Henry's legs that he almost fell over. "Oh, God," continued Sabella, signing to the nearest of her servants. "Can we not be rid of this wailing?"

The mask of stone had concealed Henry's true face again. He said nothing, moved not at all, as certain brawny and unexpectedly attractive young men among Sabella's retinue hurried forward and pried Tallia off her uncle before carrying her, still sobbing and writhing, away.

"Let us pray," said Henry in the silence that followed, "that my blessed mother may rest in the peace she deserves, and that we may all be reconciled as God—and she—would wish."

Biscop Constance bowed her head and lifted her hands as in prayer. "For it was sung in the city of Queen Salomae the Wise, 'let there be peace among sisters and brothers.'" She looked at Henry in a way that suggested to Hanna that she and her brother had had a long conversation about this meeting. "Come." She opened a hand to indicate that they should move forward. "Let us pray."

It was Luciasmass, the first day of summer, and therefore a feast was laid out in the biscop's hall. Hanna had almost become accustomed to the splendor of royal feasts, but even so, Biscop Constance's table had the grandeur and sumptuousness of a feast set out in heaven. White linens swathed the tables, and at every place lay a folded knee covering—a table napkin embroidered with grapevines in green and purple. No person there did not sit on a cushioned bench, or eat off platters of gold or silver or brass, according to her station, that had been polished to such a high gloss that they could also have served as mirrors. Noble girls poured wine for the king and his royal siblings through delicate sieve spoons. A swan, decorated with its own feathers, was brought forward on a gold plate so heavy that it took two men to carry it. Haunches of beef still steaming from the spit were carried to the lower tables, and outside the hall chicken and pork were served to those who could not enter. On midsummer's long afternoon they had no need of candles to light their merrymaking, but fully three harpists traded songs or joined together, not that their music could often be heard above the noise of the feasters or the throngs of petitioners who were led forward at intervals to entreat the king.

Hanna waited behind the king's chair with Hathui and in this way was able to gain a bite of the coveted swan, dark meat swimming in a sauce so pungent that she had to shut her eyes as she savored it. The flavor was so overwhelming that she didn't hear him come in among the newest crowd of arrivals, only heard the king make a terse comment, and then his familiar, grave voice, a man never afraid to speak before the regnant.

"I left Princess Theophanu in Aosta, Your Majesty. She was then whole and healthy, and she had arrived safely with most of her retinue intact after a tremendously difficult journey through the mountains. But as I reported to her myself, Queen Adelheid at that time lay under siege in the city of Vennaci. An Aostan warlord calling himself Lord John Ironhead has been determined to wed her since the news of her young husband's death."

It was indeed Wolfhere, as hale and hearty as ever if that were possible. He saw her standing beside Hathui, and Hanna could have sworn he winked. She was always surprised by how pleased she was to see him.

Henry grunted irritably before he took a sip of wine. "You know nothing more?" He swirled the dregs, staring into the cup like a conjureman of the old religion who could read fortunes from such leavings. "Damned stubborn child," he muttered so softly that only his attendant Eagles and, perhaps, his sister Constance could hear him. "If he had obeyed me and gone—" But he trailed off, then held out his cup so that it could be refilled.

Sabella, at his left, regarded the Eagle who knelt before Henry with a quizzical eye, rather like a woman who wonders if the dancing bear can also talk. "I've heard news of this Ironhead from one of my clerics, who was educated in Aosta," she said. "It's rumored he murdered his nobly-born half brother and married the widow. But if he's pursuing Queen Adelheid, the woman must be dead. Or retired to the convent."

If Wolfhere was surprised to see Sabella feasting at table with her brother, he did not show it. He only inclined his head in agreement. "I met Lord John, Your Highness. I expect that retirement to a convent would be a merciful release from his attentions for a woman of noble breeding."

Sabella snorted, looking well entertained.

"There is other news," added Wolfhere. "While I was still in Karrone after crossing the mountains, we heard news that Ironhead had pursued Queen Adelheid and Princess Theophanu into the hills northwest of Vennaci. They took refuge at a small convent in the Capardian wilderness. Since then, I have heard nothing more."

While Henry mulled over this troubling news, Hanna was given leave to take Wolfhere outside and see that he was fed.

"Why didn't you stay with them?" she asked.

"I had other duties, as you know, Hanna, and other messages to deliver. How fares it with you?"

She sat with him and told him of her adventures while he picked clean half a chicken that was only slightly charred from too much roasting, then washed it down with bread and ale.

"What do you think these dreams mean?" she concluded. "Are they true visions, or false ones?"

"I cannot tell you. An indigestion in your stomach might cause them. Or it may be you have picked up a strange destiny. I have caught a stone in my shoe now and again, and once it was a beautiful agate that I polished and hung on a chain." He smiled as at a very old memory. "Nay, I cannot say. I know little of the Eastern tribes." He chuckled. "I met Prince Bayan in earlier days. Who would have thought Princess Sapientia would have liked him so well?"

"Who would have thought," muttered Hanna, "that she would have liked him better than Father Hugh? Do you know where Liath is, Wolfhere?"

"Somewhere safe, I should hope," he replied smoothly. " It would go ill for her to return to a court where she would face trial on the charge of sorcery."

Since Wolfhere was always surprising her, it took her a moment to respond. "How can you know what happened at the Council of Autun? I only learned of it ten days ago when I joined the king's progress."

The summer evening had a drowsy light to it, not quite day and not quite night. "You have seen enough, Hanna," he said at last. "I can trust you with the Eagle's sight."

"What is the Eagle's sight?" she demanded, but she already had her suspicions.

"Meet me tomorrow at cockcrow out beyond the Lions' encampment." He would say no more.

In Taillefer's chapel the clerics were singing Vigils as she made her way past stables and palace to the field where three hundreds of Lions had set up their campground, with small tents and larger pavilions, wagons placed in a corral, and a dirt arena roped off for training.

Some few Lions were up and about. As commoners and field soldiers, they marched with few servants, and part of their duties were to take care of themselves like the Dariyan legionnaires of old who, it was said, dug their own earthen forts each night when they were on campaign and moreover did not scorn doing so.

She could not pass the sentries without looking for her old friends, but as it happened, she found Ingo out by the wagons with a piece of sausage in his hand and a kitten hissing at him from behind a wagon wheel.

"Friend!" she called just as the kitten scratched, and he yelped, dropping the bit of sausage. The kitten scampered into a mound of straw lying heaped up along the axle. "Now that's a dangerous foe," she said, crouching beside him. "I beg pardon for startling you. It looks like a hard-fought battle."

He sucked on his scratched finger. "Poor things. Their dam was run over by one of the water wagons yesterday and we've tried to coax them out, but they won't come near even to take a bit of meat."

The waning quarter moon hung low at the trees. The stars were fading as dawn grew around them.

"Skittish," said Hanna. "So my dam always said, that you can't shove a child among strangers and expect it to sing and dance." He smiled. Picking up the sausage, he held it out again and clucked under his tongue, hoping to tease out the kittens. She heard their sharp and almost laughable hisses from their hiding place in the straw. "I haven't seen your new recruit at the palace," she added.

Ingo shrugged without taking his eyes off the straw, which had a pronounced wiggle and slip to it; briefly, a gray tail peeped through, then vanished. "Thiadbold's captain of our company now," he said, "and he's decided to keep him busy here in the camp for the time being. No need to make him suffer more than he has already, poor lad. After all he went through, he hasn't a bad word to say of anyone."

"She turned on him," said Hanna in a low voice. "But perhaps he was a bad husband."

"Hush, friend," said Ingo suddenly. He rose, and she shifted to see a tall figure coming down the line of wagons with a shovel resting on his shoulder and two huge dogs walking at his heels. He stumbled to a halt just before them and almost tripped. The dogs sat down as polite as you please, without a noise. But she saw who they were now, and she couldn't help rising to face them, though they made not one threatening sound or movement.

"I beg your pardon, Ingo," said Alain. "I didn't see you." He saw Hanna, too, and offered a polite greeting. Obviously he didn't know who she was, and she wasn't about to remind him of Liath, whom he might associate with happier days. He gestured toward the wagon. "Are we moving out today? I didn't hear any orders."

"Nay, not today. It's those kittens—

"Ah." He, too, seemed to know about the kittens. He knelt by the wheel, setting the shovel down, and examined the now-motionless heap of straw.

This close to the shovel, Hanna could smell the pungent aroma of the pits and see bits of dirt and stickier substances clinging to the spade's edge. He had been on nightsoil duty, an odd chore for a man who had not ten days ago walked among the great princes of the realm. But if the labor annoyed him, she could see no trace of resentment on his face; he had an interesting profile, clean, a little sharp because of the cut of his nose. His dark hair was growing out raggedly and had been, caught back with a leather string. At this moment, he stared so intently at the straw that she wondered if he had forgotten she and Ingo crouched beside him. Slowly he extended a hand; he made the slightest whistling noise under his breath, hardly a sound at all, but the straw wiggled and shuddered and a tiny pink nose peeped out, then a second, beside it.

His hand did not move, nor had he taken the sausage from Ingo. The gray kitten slipped out of the straw and tottered skittishly forward, sniffed his fingers, then with its little pink tongue began to lick. A second shadow, more motley than gray, staggered out beside the first, followed by a third.

Hanna was afraid to move. Ingo seemed frozen with amazement, sausage dangling limp from his fingers. The hounds watched, eerily silent. One settled down to lick a paw.

After the kittens had licked Alain's fingers, he turned his hand over slowly and stroked them until tiny purrs rumbled. Still moving cautiously, he scooped them up against his chest, where they settled down, faces hidden.

"I'll take them to Cook," he murmured. "Maybe they'll take some cream." He gestured with a foot toward the shovel. "I'll come back—"

"Nay, comrade," said Ingo. "I'll take the shovel to its place."