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“Margrave Judith,” said Mother Scholastica curtly. She did not incline her head in greeting. Margrave Judith made no obeisance.
Baldwin made a soft choking noise, as though a bone had caught in his throat. He had gone pale—although in Baldwin not even fear could dim his unfortunate beauty.
“I greet you,” continued Mother Scholastica in the same crisp fashion, “and offer you the hospitality of Quedlinhame. You are here on your way to King Henry’s progress? I fear Queen Mathilda is too ill to receive visitors.”
“I am grieved to hear it and I will pray for her quick recovery.” Margrave Judith spoke with the tone of a woman who always gets what she wants, when she wants it. “But I have other business at Quedlinhame. Indeed, a matter dear to my heart for I am certainly now old enough and powerful enough and with heirs enough to suit myself in such a matter.”
Hugh’s mother. Ivar could see nothing of the son in her except in height and in the almost contemptuous imperiousness with which she regarded the abbess.
Baldwin stirred beside him like a leaf shaken in a strong wind.
Mother Scholastica lifted a hand, palm up, to encourage the margrave to go on, but instead the margrave turned and, as a basilisk fixes its prey with a fateful gaze before it strikes, she looked directly at Baldwin.
“I have come,” she said, “for my bridegroom.”
Baldwin burst into tears.
6
LAVASTINE had chosen to camp on a low hill about a league from Gent. He stood with a hand on Alain’s shoulder as they looked out over fields long since gone to riot with half-grown wheat and barley struggling to lift their heads above weeds and grass. Herds of cattle and sheep could be seen in the distance, but all had been moved a good way from Lavastine’s position. The Eika knew they were here.
“Do you think the Eika will let us wait?”
Lavastine did not reply at once. Below, the soldiers had started digging a trench about halfway up the hill. The ring of axes sounded from above them where, at the level height of the hill, a copse of trees was being chopped down.
“Look there.” Lavastine indicated the lay of fields before them and the distant herds. “They’ve been grazed extensively. The Eika have turned all this good farmland into pasture. Strange, that they are like to us in many ways and yet so unlike.” The eastern shore lay gray-blue, with clouds streaking the horizon and tendrils of mist streaming up along the river’s bank especially around the distant city walls and the square cathedral tower. “Come.”
“Father, is it wise for me to attend a war council? What if the Eika prince sees my life in his dreams just as I see his in the hours when I sleep?”
Behind Lavastine the sun sank toward the horizon, demarked here by the tops of trees ranged along the ridgetops that signaled the start of hilly country lying above the river plain. Fires burned, smoke curling up into the sky, a clear beacon of their presence. Alain smelled meat cooking and with that sudden sharp dislocation of his senses, he could hear the hiss of the fire and taste the juices dripping down to snap and sizzle on wood burned down into red-hot coals. Flies swarmed over offal from the slaughter of cattle, and he twitched and tried to brush them off his arms before he stopped himself; the trash heap was well out of sight of the count’s pavilion. Fifth Brother had given him the gift of preternaturally keen senses—just as he had, with that exchange of blood so many months ago, given Alain the ability to dream snatches of his life.
Lavastine had been staring eastward, examining the city, which was now almost lost in a haze made of equal parts river mist and twilight. His smile was as thin as the gleam of the distant river. “You will attend the council as befits a young lord who will one day hold great responsibility as the Count of Lavas.” When he used this tone, Alain knew better than to argue.
They walked together back to the pavilion, where the captains of his army waited for him under the awning. Lavastine sat and motioned to Alain to sit in the camp chair at his right. Everyone else remained standing, even Lord Geoffrey, whose bland gaze made Alain nervous.
Alain studied the men and one woman ranged before them. Lavastine’s captain stood steady at the count’s left side, of course, a trustworthy man and a good soldier. Lord Geoffrey had acquitted himself honorably at his cousin’s side two years ago when they turned back the Eika threat on the northwest coast; surely he would do as much now, when the stakes were so high. Lord Wichman had months of experience fighting these Eika, but he was reckless and arrogant and chafed under Lavastine’s rule—and yet under Lavastine’s rule he remained. Biscop Constance’s captain, sent in her place, was a son of the Countess of Autun; Lord Dedi was a man near to Lavastine’s age, weary-looking, laconic, and with a sure hand over his soldiers. Duchess Liutgard of Fesse had sent a distant cousin with a troop of mounted cavalry; this young woman had a glance like the edge of a sword and had gotten in at least three fist-fights on the way here, once breaking the nose of a drunken young lord—one of Wichman’s retainers—who had asked her why she fought instead of bred. Alain suspected that Lord Wichman admired her, although of course he could not importune a noblewoman with as little thought for the consequences as he could a freeholder’s daughter.
Several sergeants who commanded units of milites, freeholders massed as infantry, stood in the background. One slapped at a fly.
Lavastine whistled, and the great black hounds padded forward. Old Terror draped himself over the count’s feet while Ardent, Bliss, Fear, and Steadfast thrust their muzzles into his hands seeking a pat on the head before they finally settled down. Sorrow and Rage sat on either side of Alain, and Good Cheer lay down heavily on Alain’s boots. Arrayed so, they presented a formidable entourage.
The count glanced at Alain, then set his hands on his mail-clad knees, silent for a moment as he met the gaze of each of the captains standing in his council. Stout-hearted, or at least foolhardy, none of them flinched from that gaze … only Alain.
Ai, Lady, was it wise for him to sit in on this council and hear Lavastine’s plans? But he dared not go against his father’s wishes—even if it meant that Fifth Son might use what he learned here against Lavastine and his army. Even if it meant that the Eika prince would see the count’s even, intelligent gaze in his dreams tonight.
Having taken the measure of his captains, Lavastine went on. “We know a score of Eika clans hold the city under the leadership of their chieftain, Bloodheart. Given all we have heard from Lord Wichman, who has fought them bravely these past months—” He paused here to indicate the young lord, who preened at this mention and looked sidelong at Lady Amalia to make sure she had heard. “—and from the testimony of the refugees and of our own scouts, we must assume the Eika force outnumbers our own. We must also assume Bloodheart knows this as well.”
“We haven’t seen any Eika scouts,” protested Lady Amalia. “For I would have ridden them down and stuck them like the dogs they are had I seen any.”
Wichman snorted. “You haven’t met the Eika—or their dogs. That we see no Eika doesn’t mean they aren’t there.”
“Magic and illusion! I haven’t seen such, nor do I believe it exists. Savages can’t control magic.”
“You’ll see it soon enough, Lady Doubtful—!”
Lavastine lifted a hand and gained their silence, although Wichman shifted restively, only half listening now as he brooded over the bold and prideful Lady Amalia, who did not deign to look at him. Her attention was reserved for the count. “Bloodheart also knows that we wait for the host of His Majesty, King Henry, who will arrive soon by swift march, Lord willing. I think Bloodheart will not withdraw his army while he still believes he can bleed these lands, and for all of these reasons we must be vigilant and expect that great deeds await us.”
He regarded his captains, then looked past them to the sergeants standing quietly at their backs. “Through the night we must dig a stockade. I want all those fitted to the work to labor in shifts through the night until we have an earth palisade and a good deep ditch to protect us against an Eika attack. Those who are not working must rest. Our victory will come about through stout hearts and strong arms, and by the blessing of God, may They smile on this enterprise and grant us triumph in this place.” With that, Lavastine rose as a sign of dismissal. “Go to your places. I shall speak again with each of you before the night is gone.”
