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“Yes, Your Grace.”
She was used to command. She had been born into the royal family, and had been younger than Ivar was now when the biscop’s staff had been placed in her right hand.
“I must ask of you and your company that you ride a more difficult and thorny path even than the one you have embarked on now. I have interviewed Brother Ivar at length. It seems clear to me that my niece Theophanu cannot aid me, perhaps will not aid me, and may not even have the means to feed and house my growing retinue. She may even see me as a threat, and certainly as a reminder of her weakness. Avaria is too far. While it is true I might find refuge in Fesse, I am determined to take the harder path.”
The captain blanched, as might a man preparing himself for worse news than what he has just heard. “Your Grace.” He bowed his head and thereby accepted his fate.
“Sabella usurped my place and imprisoned me because she rightly feared to murder me outright, although I am sure she hoped my injuries would kill me. They did not. Now I am free to act as I was not before. I will not ride into exile in Wendar. Henry set me as steward over the duchy of Arconia. No more would I trust a steward of my own who fled in time of trouble. I cannot act in a way I would myself condemn. We must rouse the countryside and fight to restore what is ours.”
Ivar was too stunned to speak, and yet his heart thrilled to hear her impassioned words. She was crippled by her injuries, but she was not weak. Examining her proud face and brilliant eyes, he saw that she was in some measure stronger than she had been before her fall.
“Your Grace.” Ulric clenched one hand. The other rested on his sword hilt.
The men murmured, their voices like the rush of wind through leaves. Farther away, a hawk skreed, and Ivar glanced up to see the bird glide away over the treetops. The fire popped loudly as a stick, burned almost to ash, broke into pieces. Sister Eligia coughed.
“I can offer nothing but uncertainty,” said Constance, “but this I promise: We will win Arconia back.”
Every man and woman knelt, and some sighing and some with a grin and one weeping and several with expressions of grim fatalism, promised to serve her and her cause.
Even Ivar knelt. How could he do otherwise? Still, he was a little disgusted that he had planned so well and now had to watch the arrow curve off target.
“Where must we go?” he demanded.
She nodded. “That, too, I have considered. We must circle north to avoid capture, and then west to a place where we will find support and refuge. We will ride to Lavas County and seek aid and comfort from Lord Geoffrey.”
“Best to travel as one group,” said Captain Ulric as they waited for the baggage train to arrive. “We might split into many smaller groups and hope to reach Lavas County undetected, but every small group will therefore be more vulnerable. Our trail is easily followed if we travel together, but we are also protected by our numbers. Lady Sabella will have to hear of our journey, and our road, and raise a large enough force to meet us without fear of being defeated by our numbers. That will take time and forethought, and may give us the advantage we need. Yet we must also consider, Your Grace, what we will do once we reach Lavas County. Of a certainty, Lady Sabella or Duke Conrad will send an army to drive us out.”
“As we travel, we will discuss what choices we have,” Constance agreed. She paused and turned her head as though seeking something.
The soft light cast its muted glamour over the clearing. Horses grazed at the sparse grass. They were being led in groups to water at the nearby stream, heard as a quiet laughter beneath the constant noise of men walking, talking, hammering a stronger axle into one of the carts, and, here and there, singing.
“I woke at midnight in the deep wood
I woke at midnight when the moon was new
There I saw a kindling fire
A bright fire!
Truth rises with the phoenix.
So spoke the holy one:
Truth rises with the phoenix.”
“What song is this?” Ivar whispered to Sigfrid, who sat cross-legged beside him with his bony hands folded in his lap and his thin face composed and calm.
“I’ve not heard those words before,” said Sigfrid, “but I know the melody well enough.” He hummed along, picking up the refrain at once.
“Truth rises with the phoenix,” echoed Ivar. Wind rippled, bringing a spatter of rain. He wiped his eyes as the mizzle shushed away into the trees. Above the chatter of men and the clatter of branches, he heard the tramp and rumble of an approaching procession.
Naturally, Baldwin rode at the front on a handsome roan mare. His seat was matchless. Even his clerical robes, cut for riding, fell in pleasing folds and layers about his legs and was swept up in back to cover his mount’s flanks. A well-dressed girl of about fourteen rode beside him on a sturdy gelding. She was so dazzled by Baldwin’s attention to her that she did not notice the captain approaching with a frown on his face.
“Louisa! Come at once to pay your respects to the holy biscop.”
Her eyes widened. She startled and touched the linen scarf that mostly covered her dark hair. “Yes, Father. I pray you, Brother Baldwin, excuse me.”
He smiled at her, and she flushed.
