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The duke coughed before he spoke, and his voice was weak. “I have no sons of an age to lead such an expedition,” he said slowly and pointedly—thus reminding all listeners that his second son Frederic had died fighting in the marchlands and his eldest son, Agius, just last spring, had sacrificed himself to save the king from the dreadful guivre. “It is my experience that the Quman riders must be met by cavalry. Foot soldiers cannot defeat them. You must reform the Dragons, Your Majesty.”
“I have no sons of such an age either,” said Henry harshly, not even looking toward poor Ekkehard who sat unnoticed in the corner behind Helmut Villam. “Not anymore. Nor any soldiers as brave as those who died at Gent.”
No one spoke or ventured an opinion, for Duke Burchard had thrown the meat among the dogs and everyone waited to see how ugly the fight would be for the spoils. But no one dared contradict the king, not even Burchard.
“What other news do you bring for me, Eagle?” Henry demanded, turning his attention back to the young woman kneeling before him. “There has been enough of bad news. Pray you, tell me nothing more that I do not want to hear.”
She had been pale before. Now she blanched. “There is another piece of news,” she began, almost stuttering. “I heard it when we halted at the Thurin Forest, where we had come searching for you. They had it there from Quedlinhame.” Then she broke off.
“Go on!” said the king impatiently.
“N-news from Gent.”
“Gent!” The king stood again.
“Ai, Lady,” muttered Brother Fortunatus, wincing as he got up.
“What news?”
“Only this: that two children escaped from the city. The children said that a daimone imprisoned by Bloodheart showed them the way out through the crypt, but there was no trace of such a tunnel when the foresters thereabouts went later to look.”
“Such a tunnel,” said Villam, “as the other refugees from Gent claimed to have used to flee to safety?”
“I don’t know,” said Hanna, “but Liath—”
“Liath?” asked the king.
“My comrade in the Eagles. She would know. She was there.”
“Of course,” said the king. “I will question her later. Go on.” His interest was keen and his attention, on the young Eagle, utterly focused.
“There is little else to report. The Eika still infest the city. They have brought in slaves who work the smithies and armories and in the tanneries, so the children reported. They saw—” She made a kind of hiccuping sound, then got the words out. “According to the report I heard, they saw the bodies of fighting men in the crypt below the cathedral. Tabards sewn with the sigil of a dragon.”
“That is enough.” The king signed her to silence. She looked relieved to be free of his notice. “I am weary. Today my stewards will organize the train. Tomorrow we ride toward Echstatt. Duke Burchard, you will give me fifty soldiers to send to Eastfall. Young Rodulf of Varingia and ten companions attend me. He can prove himself loyal to me and cleanse his family honor of the stain laid there by his father the late duke by fighting well and bravely in the east. Let them be called Dragons.” The words came hard, but he spoke them. “In time, others will be added to their number.”
He shut his eyes a moment, seemed to be praying silently; then he shook himself free of memory and went on. “God guide us in this hour of loss.” He touched a hand to his chest where, Rosvita knew, he kept an old bloodstained rag—the birthcloth of his bastard son Sanglant—nestled against his skin. “Now we must consider Gent. We have recovered from our losses at Kassel. There has been time to get the harvest in, and by the mercy and grace of Our Lord and Lady, the crop has been good. Sabella remains safely in the custody of Biscop Constance. I need only an army sufficient to attack Gent.”
Many people in the hall, mostly young and male, clamored at once. “I will go! Let me ride, Your Majesty! The honor of my kin—!”
The newest arrival at court, pleasant and able Lord Geoffrey, shouldered his way to the front. “Grant me this honor, Your Majesty,” he said, kneeling.
Henry raised a hand to cut short the outcry. “Winter is a poor season for Eagles to ride, but ride they must for my purposes. Hathui. Send one hardy soul to Margrave Judith, to inquire if she will lend her physician for the care of my daughter until she gives birth to the child. Send one with the expedition to Eastfall. Send another to Duke Conrad in Wayland with these words: ‘Attend me on my progress to explain your conduct toward my Eagle at Julier Pass.’ And choose a fourth carefully, to send to Count Lavastine, in Varre.”
Lord Geoffrey glanced up, surprised.
“You, my young friend,” said Henry to him, “I will keep by my side for a few more hunts at least. Let the Eagle ride now to your kinsman. You can return there later.”
“Why to Count Lavastine?” asked Burchard querulously.
Villam, who had been listening carefully to the king, smiled softly as at a joke only he understood.
“He has gained a son. I have lost one. Let Lavastine prove his loyalty to me by meeting me with an army at Gent. If God grant us victory over the Eika and restore the city to our hands, then I will grant him the reward he seeks.”
8
IN the end it had mattered not. And she had, besides, brought death to a dozen or more people. Could God ever forgive her? Could she forgive herself?
“Please, Da,” she prayed, hands clasped tight before her lips, “please tell me what to do. Why didn’t you teach me, Da?”
