Crown Of Stars - Child Of Flame Part 68

"Liar and wh.o.r.e! 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 t.i.tle!"

"I pray you, Cousins, this is no way to show respect. d.u.c.h.ess Rotrudis can hear every word- "As if she hasn't enjoyed every word of it, the old b.i.t.c.h!"

"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, n.o.bles 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 d.u.c.h.ess. 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 l.u.s.t 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 b.a.l.l.s 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. d.u.c.h.ess 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 d.u.c.h.ess. 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 G.o.d 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 amus.e.m.e.nt, 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 n.o.ble folk, those who hadn't the rank or the connections to be admitted to the d.u.c.h.ess' 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, m.u.f.fled laughter and heartfelt weeping, whispered gossip. In such close quarters, he had learned to shut it out.

"They won't follow me," she said hoa.r.s.ely 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 G.o.d 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 amus.e.m.e.nt 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."

"No man or woman knows what lies in the future. Anyone who tells you otherwise is lying. But even Prince Bayan had more than one wife before he married my sister, and all of his children are considered legitimate, with a right to share in his wealth. Even if it's true your captain can only have one wife who is recognized by the church, I suppose he still prefers the old ways. If he doesn't beat you now, then he's scarcely likely to beat you once he returns to Ungria. I see no reason why you would suffer for living there, except that it's a foreign land and like any foreign land a hard place to raise Wendish children."

"You're a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, too, aren't you?" She toyed with one end of her girdle, wrapped tightly around her waist. Handsomely embroidered and finished with gold thread, it was a rich garment for a woman of her station." What do I care if my children are half-breeds and more Ungrian than Wendish as long as they have a better station in life? Why shouldn't my sons hope to ride in a lord's war band, and my daughters to guard the keys to a chest of treasure that they can administer and dispense? In the village I grew up in, not one family owned a horse. Now I ride instead of walking!"

Her words struck him powerfully. He had hoped for so little all his life, raised to be captain of the King's Dragons, raised to serve Wendar and the regnant, nothing more. But he didn't want to walk that path any longer. He no longer had the stomach for it. He had a child to consider.

"Go to Ungria," he said softly, "and I pray that G.o.d go with you."

Inside the chapel, Bayan's body lay in state before the Lady's Hearth. His mother lay outside the city's walls, hidden in her wagon, guarded by her slaves and by a contingent of Ungrian troops. Rumor had it that her attendants had asked for a barrel of honey in which to preserve her body.

Brother Breschius lay p.r.o.ne before the shrouded corpse, still weeping, heartbroken at the loss of his lord. Sapientia fell to her knees beside him. She had to be held up by two of her attendants, and a third woman threw a light shawl over her head to hide her face from the clerics and mourners a.s.sembled in the church.

But Sanglant had cried all his tears at dusk, when he had ridden in through Osterburg's gate beside Bayan's limp body, thrown over a horse. He caught Heribert's eye, and the cleric squeezed through the crowd and hurried over to him.

"What have you heard?" asked Sanglant in a low voice.

"Little enough. They're still too grief-stricken to think beyond Bayan's death. He was a good man."

"True-spoken words." He considered his weeping sister and her dead husband, illuminated by the gleam of lamps. A mural, obscured by the shadow of night and the shifting oil flames, washed the wall behind the Hearth: the martyrdom of St. Justinian, who had chosen death over marriage to a heathen queen." Sapientia could become d.u.c.h.ess of Saony."

"An odd choice of words, my lord prince. I'm not certain I understood correctly what you just said."

"Nay, you heard well enough, Heribert, but never mind. Stay a while longer, if you please. I've set the fox among the hens up in my aunt's chamber. I'm sure they'll be speaking of it here soon enough, and I'd like to know what they're saying."

Heribert's smile was mocking." A rough attempt at intrigue, my lord prince, but it will serve as a beginning."

"Darre wasn't built in a day." He laughed, choked it back as the people nearest him turned around to stare, wondering who would be so cra.s.s as to disturb mourners in such a manner. Luckily, Sapientia had not heard him." Where did I hear that line? I'll be turning into a cleric soon."

"Nay, my friend, no one is going to mistake you for a cleric."

A shout of grief from outside broke the even murmur of prayers. Soon other cries and lamentations could be heard. A man burst into the chapel." Lord Zwentibold is dead!"

Sanglant moved to the Lady's Hearth and knelt there, offering a prayer for Bayan before he got up and went outside. These crowded s.p.a.ces chafed him. He needed room to move. In the dark courtyard he caught sight of a familiar figure sauntering toward the gates with an unwilling woman in tow.

"Wichman! Cousin!"

Wichman had wasted little time in getting hold of Zwentibold's concubine. No doubt he intended to drag her down to a safe house in the city where Sanglant would never find her among so many refugees.

With a grunt of disgust, Wichman stopped, turning to face him. The concubine twisted her wrist free of his grasp. She looked ready to bolt, but she hesitated as she saw Sanglant walking up to them. She straightened, smoothing her gown down over her stomach. The weave of the cloth was silky enough that it clung to her, revealing the shape of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, suggesting the length of one thigh and the hidden treasure that a man might gain access to, should he win her favor or simply take possession of her. Pretty enough, ripe and willing: no wonder Zwentibold had taken her.

"I thank you," said Sanglant to Wichman, staring him down, "for bringing her to me. I have been at the chapel, praying for the dead."

Sanglant knew men well enough to see Wichman consider fighting him, but the notion, briefly held, ebbed quickly. Wichman didn't dare challenge him. They both knew that. At last, Wichman spun and stalked away.

"My lord." She dipped in an awkward obeisance, half bow, half bend that displayed an arousing expanse of breast. He could actually see the tips of her nipples where her neckline cut low. Her voice shook, as though she suppressed tears." You have my thanks, my lord prince. I am ever so feared of Lord Wichman, after what he did do to my sister."

Nay, truly, no one was ever going to mistake him for a cleric." What is your name?"

She had a strong accent." I am called Marcovefa." "Are you from Salia? How came you here to Osterburg?" Her gaze was more shy than her body, which she shifted ever more closely toward him, close enough that he kept expecting to feel the cloth of her gown slipping over his hands, inviting him to touch what lay beneath it." My sister and I came as attendants to a n.o.ble lady out of Salia. Her parents married her to Lord Zwentibold to get her out of the way of the war." "Which war is that?"

"Well, truly, my lord prince, the king's brothers and cousins and his eldest son are all fighting over the crown of Salia. Men do fight over what they most desire." Her shy gaze, the way she looked up through her eyelashes at him, provoked him to take a step away. It was a desperately warm night even for early autumn. When had it gotten so hot? "My sister Merofled came to Lord Zwentibold's at tention after our lady was taken ill. But Lord Wichman raped her one day, and she couldn't stand the shame of it. I fear me, she hanged herself." With the back of a pretty hand unweathered by work, she wiped a tear away." I have no family left to me. My parents are dead. I suppose I may have a brother left alive in Salia, but I don't know how I'd ever go back there. My sister was my family. Now she's dead, and I'll never meet her again, not even in the Chamber of Light, for she took her own life. I hate that Lord Wichman. I beg you, Your Highness, do not let him take me, for why should I not join my sister in a criminal's death if I'm forced to endure his cruelty?"

Now she did lean against him, clutching for support at his shoulders while pressing all that soft and voluptuous flesh against his body. With an effort, he pushed her gently away.

"Where is Lord Zwentibold's wife now?"

"In St. Ursula's Convent, my lord prince. She's ever so ill, and she prays to G.o.d to heal her."

"What will she do now that Lord Zwentibold is dead?"

She wept, with evident sincerity." I know not, Your Highness. He was a decent man, the best of that sorry lot!" Flushing, she ducked her head." Begging your pardon, my lord."

"Would your lady take you back, if you went to St. Ursula's?"

"Live a nun's life? That wouldn't suit me, praying all day!" She sidled closer, pushing her hips up against his, letting her hands wander." But you would. I could please you, my lord."

And why not? Liath had abandoned him and might never return, just as Alia had abandoned Henry. Alia had never cared about Henry at all.

But Henry hadn't let his anger twist him to do what he knew wasn't right. Perhaps Zwentibold's concubine was a decent woman doing the only thing she knew to make a place of safety for herself. Perhaps she was simply an opportunist, wanting beautiful clothes and rich food where she could get it. Another man, or woman, might take what he could get when he could get it and carelessly cast it away afterward, without thinking of the consequences. But Sanglant knew now how it felt to be abandoned. He had heard Waltharia mourn the death of the young child they had made together, the child he had never known, had not been permitted to know.

What if Frederun, back in Gent, had gotten with child by him? What would she do with a b.a.s.t.a.r.d child and no family to help her? Had he even sent a message to discover what had become of her? He had left her behind with less thought than Liath had left him.

"Nay," he murmured, knowing these thoughts unfair to Liath. Hadn't he heard his wife's voice in Gent? Hadn't she cried out to him: " Wait for me, I beg you. Help me if you can, for I'm lost here."

His anger at his mother had deafened him. He had wanted, and had chosen, to believe the worst. Maybe, if he ever found Liath again, he should wait to hear what she had to say.

"But if you will not have me, what am I to do?" pleaded Mar-covefa, still pressed against him.

"My lord prince."

"Thank G.o.d." He turned away from Marcovefa as his good friend hurried up to him, lamp in hand." Heribert, you are come at just the right time. See that this woman is given sceattas, enough that she might set herself up in some business if she has any craft, or that she might return to Salia, or dower herself into a convent."

Heribert raised one eyebrow, but his expression remained grave." As you wish, my lord prince." Marcovefa had flinched back at Sanglant's words, but now she slid closer to Heribert, perhaps thinking to work her wiles on him. Sanglant smiled slightly, then frowned as Heribert went on." You'd best attend to your brother. There's trouble."

It was a relief to climb the steps in the stone tower, the oldest part of the ducal palace, where n.o.ble prisoners were kept in a drafty chamber behind a stout door ribbed with iron bands. He had set his own men to guard Ekkehard's door, knowing they would allow no mischief from folk who might otherwise be eager to harm the four men who had branded themselves as traitors.

"Trouble," said Sergeant Cobbo, acknowledging him. Everwin, beside him, smiled nervously." Captain's inside with the n.o.ble ladies."

"Which n.o.ble ladies would that be? Not my sister?" He had visions of Sapientia trying to pulp Ekkehard with her broadsword, but despite his youth Ekkehard was still taller and bigger than his elder sister, having inherited Henry's height if not yet his breadth.

"Indeed, your sister. And Margrave Judith's daughter, Your Highness. They're both angry."

He laughed curtly, thinking of Marcovefa's tempting flesh." And I'm d.a.m.ned thirsty, not having had a drink for far too long. We'll see who's most ill-tempered."

Cobbo opened the door for him. He walked in to find Lady Bertha with four surly looking soldiers at her back and Ekkehard cornered between the hearth and a table by a raging Sapientia.

"It's your fault!" Sapientia was screaming." Bayan wouldn't be dead if not for your treason!" She flung herself on Ekkehard, who raised his arms to protect himself from her fury.