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Murmurs arose in the crowd. People pointed. Whispers buzzed.
“Two nomias! For a slave! That’s as much as for a fine stallion!”
To one side, she glimpsed Count Lavastine slipping into place among the crowd of nobles.
“In truth, Your Majesty,” Hugh went on smoothly, “she could not have met the debt price, books or no books, no matter what she believes—or wishes to believe. I kept her safe, clothed, fed, and housed. And I was repaid in this manner: Your Eagle, Wolfhere, stole her from me without my consent—and, evidently, without yours.”
“I pray you, Your Majesty!” The words burst out of Wolfhere. “May I speak?”
The king considered for a long time. Finally, he lifted a hand in consent.
Wolfhere spoke crisply. “Liath came with me freely. I paid the full debt price that Father Hugh had taken on himself: two nomias. The transaction was witnessed by Marshal Liudolf of Heart’s Rest, and sealed with your own mark—the mark of the Eagles which you grant to each of us who serves the crown of Wendar and Varre. It is well known that your servants hold the right to take what they need when they need it. I had need of more Eagles, in such troubled times. Liath and Hanna served me well, and indeed I lost two Eagles at Gent, one of them my own discipla. I did not purchase Liath’s freedom trivially, but out of necessity. She has served you well, Your Majesty. I beg you to take her service into account.”
“But she was still taken without my consent,” said Hugh quietly. “I did not take the nomias that were offered me. I did not agree to the transaction.”
Henry shifted in his chair. “Do you begrudge me a gift as insignificant as this girl?”
“Not at all, Your Majesty,” he replied without missing a beat. His golden-blond hair gleamed in the sun, as did he. “But I dislike seeing such disgrace brought onto your Eagles, for isn’t it true that Eagles must be free men and women to ride in your service?”
“Freeborn men and women,” said Wolfhere quickly. “It was no fault of Liath’s that her father died in debt. But she is freeborn.”
“How do we know that?” asked Hugh.
“I will swear it on the Holy Verses!” cried Liath fiercely. “Both my mother and father were freeborn—”
“Peace,” said the king softly, and she winced, cursed herself. Could she never just keep quiet? This was not the way to win the king’s favor. He regarded Hugh and Wolfhere with a frown, but she could not guess at his thoughts. Finally, he gestured toward Sister Rosvita. “You wish to speak, Sister?”
“Only in this way, Your Majesty. I advise you to send this young woman to the convent of St. Valeria.”
That surprised him. “I begin to think there is more here than meets the eye. St. Valeria! Why should I send her to St. Valeria? To see why Theophanu is delayed for so long there?”
“A good enough reason, Your Majesty. One that will serve the purpose.”
“You speak in riddles, my good counselor. Is there more you would say?”
Rosvita hesitated. Liath’s heart beat so hard she thought everyone around her could hear its hammering. Rosvita knew what was written in The Book of Secrets; her testimony alone could condemn Liath.
“Nay, Your Majesty,” she said at last, and reluctantly. “There is nothing more I would say in such an assembly.”
Whispers threaded through the crowd like a weaving gone awry. Hugh’s eyes narrowed as he gazed at the cleric; then he recalled himself and bowed his head modestly. He did it so well. Never a hair out of place, never a smile too many or a frown at the wrong time.
Henry chuckled, but more in exasperation than good cheer. He gestured expansively. “Are there others who wish to speak?” he demanded.
That brought silence. No one was foolish—or brave—enough to speak into such silence.
Until Count Lavastine stepped forward, unruffled although he immediately became the center of attention. “I see that this Eagle has caused a great deal of disturbance on your progress, Your Majesty. But she served me well at Gent. If you wish to be rid of her, I will take her into my retinue.”
“Would you, indeed?” The king quirked an eyebrow, curious, not entirely pleased. “So many show such an interest in a simple Eagle,” he mused. His tone made her nervous, and as if her fear attracted him, he looked right at her, the gaze of lightning, blazing, bright, and overwhelming. “Have you anything to say to this, Eagle?”
She blurted it out without thinking. “Where is Sanglant?”
“Sanglant is not here, because I have ordered it so.” There was nothing more to be said, no petition, no recourse. She bent her head in submission. What else could she do? “Wolfhere leaves today to ride south to Aosta. You have served me well, Liathano.”
To hear her name pronounced so firmly in his resonant baritone made her shiver; Da would have said: “Beware the notice of those who can seal your death warrant; if they don’t know you exist, then they’ll likely ignore you.” But the king knew she existed. He knew her name, and names are power. She waited, toying with Alain’s ring, praying that it might miraculously protect her. What else could she do?
“You have served me well,” he repeated, “so I offer you a choice. Remain an Eagle and continue to serve me faithfully, as you have done up to now. If you so choose, you will leave with your comrade Wolfhere this morning. Renounce your oaths as an Eagle, if you will, and I will return you to Father Hugh, as he has asked. This is the king’s will. Let none contest my judgment.”
He spoke the words harshly, and the instant he uttered them she could have sworn the words were meant for his absent son. A kick of rebellion started alive in her gut. What had the king threatened Sanglant with to make him stay away?
