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“Why?” asked Blessing. These days she was full of “why.”
The last of Sapientia’s horsemen rode away down the track. After a gap, a new banner came forward, following the path of the first. “Here is Lady Bertha and her legion of Austran and Olsatian marchlanders,” said Heribert.
“Why?” repeated Blessing.
“Why do we use the old words? To remind us of the strength of the old empire.”
“I will be emperor,” said Blessing, “so I’ll call my armies legions, too.”
Lady Bertha’s legion was perhaps half the number of those who had ridden out with Sapientia. After she had passed, Sanglant rode forward, saluting his daughter, and headed down the track with Captain Fulk and his men, Lord Hrodik’s Gentish irregulars, and Lord Druthmar and the contingent from Villam lands. Prince Bayan and his Ungrians, the biggest and most experienced group of fighters in the army, came next, followed in their turn by Lord Zwentibold, Lord Wichman, and their legion of skirmishers and cavalry from Saony. Last came the baggage train under the command of Duke Boleslas, the Polenie duke with his bright silver tabard and feathered helm, the peacock of the army, as Sanglant had called him one night after the prince had been drinking too much.
The wagon in which Blessing was to ride trundled to a stop before the platform, and Blessing allowed Lord Thiemo to help her into the back as Heribert folded up her chair. Although she could ride a pony, she wasn’t old enough to do so under the circumstances, so they had tied her pony behind the wagon. As she settled down among sacks of grain, Captain Thiadbold of the Lions knelt before her.
“Your Highness, your father Prince Sanglant has charged me and my cohort of Lions to see that you remain safe until we come within the walls of Osterburg. I pray you, Your Highness, if there is any trouble, do as I command, and we’ll see that no harm comes to you.”
“I don’t like riding at the rear,” said Blessing.
He grinned, then hid the smile quickly, not sure of her temper. “Nay, but there are many fine and valuable things necessary to victory here in the baggage train. It is no insult to be left to guard them, Your Highness. Nor is it any insult to you to ride with the baggage train. Do you see?” He pointed toward the painted wagon belonging to Prince Bayan’s mother. “You are not the only warrior who rides with the baggage train.”
The sight of the wagon convinced Blessing not to argue.
Duke Boleslas rode up with a dozen frilled and colorful attendants to either side of his brightly caparisoned horse. He bowed before Blessing. “Your Highness,” he said, before riding away again, circling toward the tail end of the train as the wagon lurched forward and they began moving.
Because the ground was still damp from the night’s brief rain, there wasn’t too much dust, but Anna could still tell that eight legions of fighting men had passed this way before them. Dirt soon coated her lips and tickled her nostrils. Any overhanging branches were snapped back or torn off by the press of bodies.
A feeling of dread grew in Anna’s heart as they rolled onward and the sun rose higher. Would they be able to hear the clash of arms, ahead of them, when the vanguard met the Quman? Was it true that every Quman soldier carried a shrunken head at his belt, as a trophy? She touched her own neck, wondering if they chopped the heads off children, too, or if in Quman eyes she was old enough to be married or taken as a slave.
But at least, here in the rear guard, they were a long, long way from the front, where the battle would be fought.
By midday they came up along a ridge and caught a glimpse of the Veser River in the distance. Weapons and armor glinted in the trees below where the rest of the army wound away before them, closing in on the river plain.
Blessing stood up on the cart and grasped the shoulders of the good-natured wagoner who was driving. “Look!” she cried in her piercing voice. “I see the Quman army.”
Anna stared, thinking for an instant that she saw a dark stain, like a plague of locusts, swarming over the river plain; then the road dropped into a cleft that steadily widened into flatter ground as it opened into broken woodland, oak and hornbeam and the occasional pine or beech. The tree cover gave them occasional protection from the glaring sun, but she was sweating, even though she didn’t have to walk. The Lions, striding steadily alongside, had their helms thrown back and wiped their faces frequently.
Was that a growl of thunder in the distance? She couldn’t decide whether a storm would make things better, or worse.
The wagon jostled along the trail in an even rhythm, jarred by an occasional bump. None of this bothered Blessing, who finally got bored, curled up among the lumpy sacks, and fell asleep after making Anna promise to “wake her up for the battle.” Anna envied the child her ability to sleep so easily. The load of grain made a sturdy pillow, and Anna was able to fashion a little awning out of tent cloth so that Blessing’s head remained in shadow as the wagon rolled along through changes of light and shade.
A group of at least one hundred Lions marched ahead of them and, in front of them, perhaps one hundred Polenie horsemen with their colorful striped tabards. Lord Wichman and his brother, with the Saony legion, rode too far ahead to see from here.
There was just room on the track for two wagons to move forward side by side. For a while, Anna watched the painted wagon belonging to Bayan’s mother, but the beaded covering over the window never parted to reveal a watching face. Six male slaves marched behind the wagon. Two walked at the front, leading the oxen which pulled it. In this heat, they had all stripped down to loinclothes. They were probably the most comfortable people there: no armor, no weapons. If they were nervous, they didn’t look it. She tried to imagine what feelings they had, but even though once in a while one would glance at her, feeling her gaze on him, not one ever cracked a smile or turned his lips down in a frown. They just walked, obedient to their mistress’ will.
The rest of the train followed in their dust, supply wagons, a few carts holding injured soldiers, carts holding the pavilions and camp furniture of nobles who could not go to war without their comforts and other visible signs of their rank and importance, the closed wagons bearing the princess’ treasure, and several carts belonging to the church folk, which contained their precious vessels and golden altar cloths for the nightly service.
Lions marched alongside all the way down the train, together with other infantrymen. Now and again she caught sight of horsemen farther out in the forest. At the rear, she knew, rode Duke Boleslas and the remainder of his troops. Heribert sat on the open tailgate, lost in thought.
Lord Thiemo, Matto, and the other six of Sanglant’s soldiers designated to escort Princess Blessing rode off to the right, working their way through the trees.
“Why are all the infantry back here, Brother Heribert?” she asked finally.
Heribert started, as if he’d forgotten Anna was there. “I’m no expert in strategy,” he said with a smile, “but even I know that the Quman are all horsemen. Best to engage them on the field with cavalry.”
“Why did Zacharias have to ride with Prince Bayan?”
“I thought you didn’t like him?”
“I don’t. I think it’s better he’s taken away. He’s worse than a heathen. He used to be a good God-fearing man, and now what is he?”
