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Hathui leaned to whisper in Hanna’s ear. “Judith, margrave of Olsatia and Austra.”
The margrave informed Henry that she would ride immediately to her estates in Austra and raise at least two hundred men to ride to Gent.
“And do not forget that my son Hugh is abbot at Firsebarg now. If you will send word to him, I know he can send a contingent to reinforce yours, Your Majesty.”
Hugh! Hanna did not breathe for a moment. She had almost forgotten Hugh, but staring at this imposing woman she was struck anew by memory of him. Judith was a woman of mature years, broad in girth and dignified of manner. She had delicate features not yet obscured by old age, and Hanna could see Hugh’s features there: the sharp planes of his handsome face, the bright, deep-set eyes, the haughty expression. But the margrave’s hair had obviously been dark, quite unlike Hugh’s light hair. Was it true that Hugh’s father had been a slave from Alba, whose men were renowned for their golden-haired beauty?
“Don’t be a fool, Hanna,” she whispered to herself. Instantly she wondered how Liath fared. Had they gotten into Gent safely? Was Liath well? Injured? Dead? Did Hugh think of Liath still? Of course he never thought of people like Hanna at all. What if he led a contingent of soldiers to Gent? Could Wolfhere protect Liath from Hugh when he did not understand what had taken place over that winter at Heart’s Rest?
Hathui’s fingers grazed her elbow, a reassuring touch, though surely Hathui couldn’t guess what she’d been thinking. And Hanna had no desire to betray such feelings to anyone else, not when she was herself ashamed of them, knowing how viciously Hugh had treated Liath. This was no time for such nonsense, as her mother would say. She shook herself and attended to the business at hand.
Later, after the audiences were over, Hathui was sent to the king’s physician and Hanna was sent to the guest house where the king’s children made their residence.
Hanna paused inside the door while the two guards posted there—by their gold tabards sewn with a black lion members of Henry’s Lion infantry—examined her curiously.
Hanna was more curious about the king’s children. Ekkehard was young, still in the schola, not yet old enough to be given a retinue of his own and sent out into the world as an adult. Right now he sat beside one of his sisters, who accompanied him on a lute. He had a beautiful voice.
“When the ships came down from the north
And he saw the gleam of gold in their belly,
Then he plunged into the waters
Though they were as cold as his mother’s heart,
Then plunged into the waters
And swam until he reached them.
With his sword he killed the watchmen
With his knife he killed the steersman
And the oar slaves bowed before him
And begged for him to tell his tale.
When he captured the ships,
This was his song.”
That was Theophanu, accompanying him. Though the king’s court was in a constant hum, and had been since morning, she sat calmly and strummed a lute in time to her brother’s sweet singing.
The other sister, small and dark and neat, was Sapientia. She paced back and forth, back and forth, like a caged animal. Hanna took a hesitant step forward. Sapientia saw her, began to rush toward her, then stopped short, recalling her position. She beckoned.
“Do you have a message for me, Eagle?” she demanded.
Without losing track of the song, Theophanu raised her eyes briefly to take in the scene and went back to her playing. Ekkehard sang on, oblivious.
Hanna dropped to touch a knee to the floor. “Yes. King Henry charges you to go now to the smith’s quarters.”
“Hai!” said Sapientia under her breath, exultant. She turned and gestured to her servingwomen, who sat sewing near the fire. “Come!” she said, and strode out so quickly they had to drop their sewing work on the bench and had not even time to grab cloaks before running out after her.
Hanna hesitated. Ekkehard was well into the song by now, a song within a song, really, wherein the hero Sigisfrid relates to the hapless oar slaves his many great deeds as well as revealing for the first time his forbidden love for his cousin Waltharia, the love that would doom them both. Ekkehard had, in fact, an astonishing command of the epic. Hanna had heard old master bards sing from the great epic while taking a night’s lodging at the inn, and while Ekkehard’s rendition was clearly immature, it was still compelling.
Theophanu glanced up again to study Hanna. The princess’ gaze was clear and completely unreadable. Suddenly self-conscious, Hanna backed away and ran right into one of the Lions.
He steadied her with a grin. “Begging your pardon, my friend,” he said. “You rode in from Gent with the other Eagle, this morning.”
