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In Ferse, a dozen riders waited, men-at-arms sent by the king who had stopped for that selfsame cold supper before riding on. They stared at Liath when the young watchman led her and Sanglant into the longhouse of his mother, a woman called Hilda. The householder was eager to serve a royal prince. She fed them with roasted chicken, greens, baked turnips, and a piece of honey cake.
o;Where did you come by the horse?” he asked finally. “He’s very fine. It seems to me I’ve seen him before.”
“Count Lavastine gave Resuelto to me as a reward for my service to him at Gent. And all the gear, too.”
It stirred, then, a spark of jealousy—quickly extinguished. She wasn’t riding with Count Lavastine. She was riding with him.
“Will King Henry be very angry?” she asked in a tremulous voice.
“Yes. He wants me to ride south to Aosta to place Princess Adelheid on the Aostan throne, marry her, and name myself as king regnant. Then he can march south, have the skopos crown him emperor, and name me as his heir and successor because of the legitimacy conferred upon me by my title as king.”
Her reply came more as a kind of stifled grunt than anything. They rode out into a clearing, vanguard of the open land that lay before them, and here he could see her expression clearly in the muted light of late evening. “But then, if you marry me—”
He reined in and she had to halt. “Let us speak of this once and not again,” he said, impatient not truly with her but with the arguments he knew would come once they returned to the king’s progress. “As Bloodheart’s prisoner I saw what it meant to be a king. This, my retinue—” He gestured toward the dogs who were by now well trained enough that they didn’t try to rip out the horses’ underbellies. “—would have torn out my throat any time I showed weakness. So would the great princes do to my father, were he to show weakness. Imagine how they would lie in wait for me, because I am a bastard and only half of human kin. For one year I lived that way trapped in the cathedral in Gent. I will not live so again. I do not want to be king or emperor. But if you cannot believe me, Liath, then return to Wolfhere. Or break with the king and offer your service to Count Lavastine, who obviously values you. I will not have this conversation over and over if you in your heart doubt my intention.”
She said nothing at first. Finally, she nudged her horse forward and commenced riding north along the road. He followed her. His heart pounded fiercely and a wave of dizziness swept through him so powerfully that he clutched the saddle to keep his seat. The pounding in his ears swelled until he started up, realizing he heard hoofbeats ahead.
“Pull up,” he said curtly, and she did so.
“What is it?” But then she, too, heard. A moment later they saw riders.
Two men reined in, looking relieved. “My lord prince!” Their horses were in a bad state; they-had not thought to take remounts.
“We’ll return to the village,” said Sanglant to them, “where we’ll rest for the night. Then we’ll rejoin the king.”
They nodded, not asking questions.
The sun had finally set, and they pressed forward through the moon-fed twilight, walking the horses in part to spare the blown mounts of their escort and in part because of the dim light. He had nothing to say to Liath, not with the two servingmen so close behind them. He did not really know what to say in any case. What point was there in saying anything? The decision had been made. There was, thank God, nothing left to discuss.
She rode with a straight back and a proud, confident carriage. Did she have second thoughts as she rode beside him? He could not tell by her expression, half hidden by the deepening twilight. She seemed resolute, with her chin tilted back.
A single lantern burned at the gate to Ferse, like a star fallen to earth—the only light besides that glistening down upon them from the heavens. Clouds had smothered the southern sky, blowing a brisk wind before it: a coming storm.
He let one of the servingmen pound at the closed gate while he tried not to think of what lay ahead: a cold supper, and a bed. Certainly a few women had approached him in the last month—some, he suspected, at the instigation of Helmut Villam, who seemed to believe that every ill that assailed the male body could be cured by the vigorous application of sex—but he had not touched even one. He was afraid that he would make a fool of himself.
Now, as the gate creaked open and they were admitted within the palisade by a suitably overawed young man acting as watchman, he was sorry he had not. Then at least he would have taken the edge off that terrible appetite which is desire unfulfilled. Even the mothers and fathers of the church understood that it is easier to cure the body of its lust for eat and drink than of the inclination toward concupiscence.
In Ferse, a dozen riders waited, men-at-arms sent by the king who had stopped for that selfsame cold supper before riding on. They stared at Liath when the young watchman led her and Sanglant into the longhouse of his mother, a woman called Hilda. The householder was eager to serve a royal prince. She fed them with roasted chicken, greens, baked turnips, and a piece of honey cake.
“There are two other things we need from you this night,” said Sanglant when he had finished his cup of ale. “A bed.” Some of the men-at-arms gulped down laughter—but he heard no ridicule, only sympathetic amusement. He recognized all of these men as soldiers who had followed his command at the battle outside Gent. “And your witness, Mistress Hilda, together with that of these men.”
They waited expectantly. Mistress Hilda made a gesture for her son to fill the cups again, and the rest of her household huddled among the shadows under the interior eaves to listen.
Liath had spoken no word since the first riders had caught up with them, but she stood now, hand trembling slightly as she took hold of the wooden cup. He stood hastily beside her, taut, like a hound held to a tight leash. “With these folk as my witness, I thee pledge—” She stumbled, tried again, this time looking at him, holding his gaze. “I freely state my intention before God and these witnesses to bind myself in marriage with this man, given by his mother the name of Sanglant.”
He did not stumble, but only because he simply repeated her words. “I freely state my intention before God and these witnesses to bind myself in marriage with this woman, given by her father the name of Liathano.”
“I so witness,” said Mistress Hilda in a carrying voice.
“I so witness,” mumbled the poor soldiers, who well knew they would be called to explain the whole thing once they had returned to court.
Then everyone drained their cups and there came one of those awkward pauses while everyone waited for someone else to make the first move.
Mistress Hilda acted first. She made such a great fuss about surrendering the use of her best bed that Sanglant would have laughed if he hadn’t been so damned nervous. No doubt once word spread that a king’s son had spent his wedding night there many a villager would offer a basket of their best fruit, a prize chicken, or several plump partridges for the privilege of letting their own sons or daughters spend their wedding night in that same bed in the hope that some portion of the king’s luck and fertility would rub off.
The bed, built under the low slanting roof, boasted a luxurious feather mattress and a good stout curtain that could be drawn closed around it. Mistress Hilda herself chased off the two whippets curled up at the foot of the mattress. While a daughter shook out the blankets outside, the householder made a valiant attempt to brush out fleas and bugs. Then she herded the soldiers down to the empty half of the longhouse where, during the winter, the family stabled their livestock.
One lantern still burned, and the longhouse doors, thrown open to admit the breeze, allowed a pearlescent gleam of moonlight to gild the darkest confines of the longhouse. Mistress Hilda made much of escorting them to the bed and drew the curtains shut behind them. With curtains drawn it was astoundingly black; he could not see at all. The air within was stuffy. Liath sat next to him. She did not move, nor did he. He was inordinately pleased with his self-control. He sat there, thinking that he ought to unwrap his sandals and leggings. Sweat prickled on his neck and a few beads of sweat trickled down his back. The bed still smelled of dog, and of the wool stored under the bed. Outside, where he had staked them, the Eika dogs barked, then settled down.
