PROLOGUE (71 page)

Helvidius grunted, irritated now, and bit at his nails. He always had clean hands, which Anna admired. "Eh, what matter? They'll likely all die fighting the Eika at Gent. But perhaps I can sing to them tonight. I suppose they'll march on in the morning."

After all she and Matthias had done for him, how could Master Helvidius even think of leaving them? How could she forage if there was no one to watch over Helen during the day? But she did not voice these thoughts out loud. Instead, she took three of the little cakes and two handfuls of the fresh greens, wrapped them in the corner of her shawl, and walked over to the corner of Steleshame that stank of the tannery.

Crowded already, the large inner yard of Steleshame was now packed with Court Lavastine's army. They had bivouacked anywhere they could find room, making themselves free with the well
—and not even the whole of the army had encamped inside. Many remained outside to dig a ditch around the palisades as a first line of defense in case the Eika raided again.

But none of Lavastine's soldiers paid any attention to her except to avoid bumping into her as she wove her way through their ranks or pressed past those of the Steleshame people who had come forward to offer berries or bread in exchange for news. At the tannery, she found Matthias sitting on his stool. She paused to watch him. His face was as pale as the bleached winter sky, but he worked vigorously. She waited until he had finished scraping the hair side of the skin pegged out before him, then spoke his name.

He turned, smiled, then frowned when she opened her shawl and offered him the food. "There'll be bread tonight and a porridge. You should eat that yourself."

"I've had plenty," she said, and for once it was true. "You're never given enough. You know it's true, Matthias. Now don't argue with me."

He was tired enough and hungry enough that this time he didn't argue, only ate. He had barely finished the scant meal when, looking over her shoulder, his eyes widened and he grabbed his stick and heaved himself to his feet.

"Matthias!" she exclaimed, but he made a sign with his hand and dipped his head. She spun.

Ai, Lady! She touched her Circle, traced her finger around it, and gaped. Lord Wichman might be the son of a duchess, but he was nowhere near as fine as this noble lord and his son, who even fresh off the march looked as grand as Anna supposed the king might. The noble lord was not as tall or robust as Lord Wichman, who walked beside him, but he had the same kind of brisk and effortless pride which she had noticed in the master currier back in Gent, when Matthias first apprenticed in the tanning works: Such a man
—or woman—knew their domain, and that they commanded it absolutely. No doubt the master currier was dead now; she had never seen him among the refugees at Steleshame and supposed he had stayed behind during the final attack to defend his beloved demesne.

This lord had hair as colorless as the sand, a narrow face, pale blue eyes, and a keen gaze. He paused to speak to one of the workmen, indicating some leather which lay over a beam, and asked if the tannery had any leather cured and finished enough that his soldiers might use it to repair their armor. Lord Wichman fidgeted, having no patience for this sort of practical talk, and turned to speak to the lordling who stood at Count Lavastine's side.

"Don't stare!" whispered Matthias, nudging her with his free hand.

Master Helvidius had said that the count traveled with his son. Yet this young man was half a head taller than the count and had black hair rather than pale. He wore a padded coat worked with silver-and-gold thread in the outline of a hound, and, indeed, two huge black fierce-looking hounds walked meekly at his heels. He and his father were also attended by the Eagle. In the daylight Anna could see that her skin had not the tone of soot at all but rather that of a certain honey-colored soft leather prized by rich merchants for gloves.

A messenger from the king; a noble lord and his son; even Lord Wichman, who after so many months engaged in constant skirmishing looked ill-kempt beside his noble comrades. The assembly quite took Anna's breath away, but not nearly as much as when the young lordling turned as if aware of her stare and looked right at her.

She cringed, knowing she ought not to stare. "Anna!" But Matthias' muttered warning came too late.

The young lord crossed over to her, the hounds right behind him, and bent to touch a finger to her wooden Circle. "Poor child," he said kindly. "I saw you at the roadside, I think, when we were marching in. Did you come from Gent?"

She could only nod.

"Are you one of the children who escaped through the tunnel?"

"Yes, my lord," said Matthias gamely, having a voice. Anna had lost hers. The black hounds panted, tongues lolling, so near to her that she expected them to suddenly bolt past their lord and tear her to pieces. But they made no movement, nor did they growl or bark. They simply sat, watching their lord with eyes the color of melted honey.

The young lord lifted-the Circle from her chest and regarded it quizzically. "I once wore a Circle fashioned such as this, but I have it no longer."

"What became of it?" asked Lord Wichman who, more restless than the hounds, had come up beside the young lord. He glanced incuriously at Anna; he did not recognize her as the girl he had chastised on that winter raid months ago.

The young lord's mouth quirked into a smile as fleeting as Wichman's attention. "I gave it to an Eika prince." He let go of the Circle and Anna, gaping, staggered slightly as if having lost the touch of his hand she was no longer anchored to the earth.

To an Eika prince.

It could not be. She wanted to ask but dared not. She
ought
to ask but was afraid to.

The young lord had already looked past her to Matthias. "Lady Above," he said softly. "You have some injury, I think?"

Matthias bobbed his head respectfully, fighting to balance himself on his crutch. "I was taken as a slave for a time among the Eika, my lord." His voice was amazingly steady. "Lord Wichman freed me on one of his raids, my lord," he added, knowing it wise to flatter as many lords as were within earshot.

"You took the wound then, among the Eika?" asked the young lord. He had dark eyes and an expressive face, filled now with pity as he laid a hand on Matthias' filthy and matted hair. "Poor child. I wish you may have the healing you deserve."

"I'm a man now!" retorted Matthias suddenly.

Anna winced.

Lord Wichman snorted and gave a stiff, sharp laugh.

But the young lord only nodded. "So you are, come young to it through hardship. What is your name, friend?"

This was too much even for Matthias, who lost his boldness. "M-m-matthias, my lord."

"And this is your sister?" The lord took his hand from Matthias' head and smiled at Anna.

"My sister, Anna. It's short for Johanna, my lord, the blessed Daisan's discipla."

"So it is. How came you to remain here when we have heard from the mistress of this place that most of the refugees
—the children—were sent south?"

"Our grandfather was too feeble to make the journey, so we stayed on here after the others left."

"Then I pray Our Lord and Lady watch over you."

Only after he moved on, did Anna begin to cry, her tears as silent as the slip of rain down a wall.

"Anna!" Matthias set a hand on her shoulder. "Anna! What is it? Did they scare you? The hounds were big, weren't they, fierce-looking, but they're nothing like the Eika dogs. You don't need to cry."

Struck dumb.

She opened her mouth to speak but could not form words or make them whole in the air. There was something she ought to have asked but had not asked, something she ought to have done but did not do, something she was meant to accomplish but had turned her gaze away from as the well-fed merchant turns her gaze away from a starving beggar, not wanting to see him.

"Anna!" Matthias clutched h^* -.boulders, his weight sagging onto her as, frighten^'* ook her. "Anna! What is it? Ai, Lady, it wf>" wasn't it?" He pulled her tight against
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the irld In the morning, Count Lavastine and his army marched out, the count and his son at their head
—and Lord Wichman and his unruly retinue with them. Gisela's niece stood in the shadows and counted through a pouch filled with silver sceattas.

After the army vanished down the forest road, Matthias took Anna to see the herbwife. The old woman listened to their troubles and took a knife in exchange for her treatment: a noxious-smelling salve which she applied to Anna's throat and a more palatable tea brewed of waybroad and spear-root which Matthias insisted on trying first. Anna gulped the remainder down dutifully, but the day passed with no change in her condition.

That evening, Matthias led Anna to Lord Wichman's deacon, who had remained behind rather than ride into battle. A woman of noble birth, she eyed them with misgiving, as well she might considering their filthy condition and obvious look of common-born children seeking a boon.

"She can't speak, good deacon," said Matthias as he thrust Anna forward.

"Many's the child too weak or slow-witted to speak," said the deacon patiently. "Or has caught a sickness, although that's more common in wintertime. Or she may have taken a blow to the head in one of the skirmishes."

"Nay, good deacon." Matthias was nothing if not persistent. Otherwise, they would never have survived Gent. "She spoke as good as me until yesterday."

"Go see the herbwife, then."

"We've done so already."

"Then it's in God's hands." A mute child among so many who were injured in countless ways was of little concern to the deacon, good woman though she was. She prayed over Anna, touched her on the head, and indicated she should move on.

"Do not go yet, child," she said to Matthias, who had moved away with Anna. "I remember you. You were sore wounded by the Eika, were you not? I came to pray last rites over you some months ago, but you survived by God's mercy, and indeed I thought you must live out the rest of your days as a cripple. I see that God have healed you in the meantime. It is a blessing we must all be thankful for, that some have escaped this terrible time with whole bodies and strong minds."

Anna had been so terrified at losing her voice that she had scarcely had time to notice Matthias. He had been so busy fussing over her that he had taken no notice of himself. But like the sun rising, the light dawned on her now: Matthias wasn't limping.

Hastily he unwrapped the much worn and stained leggings from his calf, and there they stood, both of them gaping while the deacon looked on mildly, unaware of how remarkable
—indeed, how impossible—the sight of his leg was now to their eyes.

No festering wound discolored the skin; no horrible, unnatural bend skewed his calf where the bone had broken and healed all wrong. The leg was straight, smooth, and strong.

He was a cripple no longer.

But even so, there was yet one more wondrous event in I store for them.

Four days later the shout came from far down the west road.

"The king! The king rides to Steleshame!"

Anna and Matthias, like every last soul in and around Steleshame, ran to line the road for the adventus of King Henry as he and his retinue, armed for war, rode in to the battered holding.

The magnificence of his host would have struck any soul speechless. The king did not notice her, of course. She was only another dirty common child standing barefoot in the dirt beside the road.