PROLOGUE (134 page)

"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 bastard, 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 God 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 prone 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 assembled 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 duchess 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 crass 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 spaces 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 breasts, 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 noble 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 God 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 bastard 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 Marcovefa, still pressed against him.

"My lord prince."

"Thank God." 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 noble 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 noble ladies."

"Which noble 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 damned 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.

Ekkehard's three companions were being held back by main force by Sanglant's soldiers as they tried to come to his aid. One wore linen bound around a head wound. Another's arm was in a sling. Their dead comrade lay shrouded under a blanket on the chamber's only bed. Not even Sanglant had dared suggest that the poor boy be given a place in the chapel beside Bayan and the other noble dead.

"My lord prince." It was clear by the expression on Captain Fulk's face that he was relieved to see Sanglant.

"Sapientia." Sanglant crossed the plank floor in a half-dozen strides, grabbed his sister's shoulders, and pulled her off Ekkehard.” Don't let your grief for Bayan drive you to anything rash. God, and our father, will see that he is punished for his crimes."

"I'll see him hanged!" she cried, but she collapsed, weeping, into Sanglant's arms, and he beckoned to her attendants, who hastened to her side, pried her off him, and led her away.

Bertha's soldiers moved aside quickly to let them through, but as soon as Sapientia left the chamber, Bertha herself stepped forward.” What do you suppose King Henry intends to do with a son convicted of treason?"

"I stand as surety for my brother Ekkehard. What he did was wrong, but he's young and may be forgiven once for being misled."