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“It has to be loud if no one can hear me!”
“Everyone can hear you, brat.”
“I’m not a brat. I’m not! We need to keep going south, to Darre. I have to find my father, you know that. He’s supposed to be in Darre, so that’s where we’re going. If we’d fought them to begin with, we wouldn’t be prisoners now!”
“That’s right. Because we’d all be dead. They outnumber us three to one.”
“That never stopped my father! Did it, Heribert? Did it?”
The sound of that name made her dizzy. She thought she might collapse, but she forced herself to totter forward in the wake of Lavinia and Adelheid as they sallied out the door, their curiosity piqued by the childish outburst. Adelheid began to laugh, almost sobbing.
“How came this prize to me?” she asked Lady Lavinia.
“Do you know these folk?” Lavinia asked.
Antonia caught herself on the door’s frame as she stared past Adelheid’s shoulder.
“I know the one who is most important to me,” said Adelheid.
Even Antonia, who had only seen her as an infant, recognized Sanglant’s daughter in the lanky, furious girl straining to break free of a stolid young servant woman who held her by the shoulders. Whether the girl meant to kick the youth who stood with arms crossed in front of her, alternately making irritated faces at her and measuring his captors, or whether she meant to throw herself onto Lavinia’s guards like a wild lion cub, Antonia could not tell. The servingwoman had a queer cast of skin but looked otherwise normal. There were, indeed, two barbarians, one man and one woman with dark complexions, slanted eyes, and outlandish tunics fashioned out of stiffened cloth nothing like woven wool. The woman wore an elaborate headdress. The man carried a quiver and a strung bow and seemed only to be biding his time, waiting for a signal. There was a youthful servingman as well, a callow lordling of a kind she recognized from her days as biscop in Mainni, some minor noble’s youngest son sent off to serve a higher born man.
She recognized the youth who was arguing with the princess. He had his father’s look about him; no one could mistake him for another man’s son.
But what bent her back and made her sag against the frame was the seventh in their party, dressed in well-worn cleric’s robes. A careful observer might remark on a certain resemblance between the noble youth and the once elegant cleric, but few bothered to look closely in a place where they had no expectation of reward.
The princess broke free of her servant and marched right up to Adelheid.
“Who are you?” she demanded, planting fists on hips as she jutted out her chin. She looked to be about twelve or thirteen years of age, which was manifestly impossible, but her behavior suggested that of a much younger child. “You’re dirty!”
The empress looked down on the child, not kindly. “I am the one who holds you hostage.”
“You do not!”
The barbarian archer twitched and slid a hand toward his quiver.
“Put it down, Odei,” said young Villam. “Best to see what they want before we get ourselves killed in a hopeless fight.”
The man glanced at Princess Blessing, then nodded. He served the girl, but obeyed the youth, who already possessed his father’s calm habit of command. Yet hadn’t this boy died years ago? She had a vague memory of a tale told of Villam’s youngest son vanishing beneath a stone crown. And hadn’t Sanglant’s and Liath’s baby been born only five years past? This could not be the same infant she remembered.
There was one among the prisoners who could answer her questions. One who watched without expression as the other six looked, each according to her nature, alarmed, angry, rebellious, puzzled, thoughtful, or scared.
“Now we have something Henry’s bastard son wants,” said Adelheid. “If you will, Lavinia, lock them away, but do not neglect them. These are a fine treasure. This will serve us well.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Captain, place guards in the North Tower and install them there.”
“Yes, my lady. At once.”
“Will you ransom us?” asked the youth boldly.
“If it serves my purpose,” replied Adelheid, looking him over. She nodded. “You must be Helmut Villam’s son. The resemblance is remarkable. Are you one of his by-blows? I understood he had no legitimate sons still living.”
The lad smiled, reminding Antonia even more of Villam, who had known how to use his charm to advantage. “That mystery must remain unanswered.” His pause was not quite insolent, not quite proud. “Your Majesty.”
She laughed, amused by him, liking his face and his manners, although he was still a youth and she long since a woman. Still, the gap in years was not that great. Stranger matches had happened. “Take them. I’ll have that bath, Lavinia, with thanks.”
“Go,” said Lavinia to her captain.
Antonia stumbled forward and grabbed the cleric’s sleeve as, in the confusion, he hesitated while the guards pressed the others into the courtyard. He turned and looked at her, not appearing at all surprised to see her. In the solemn morning light, his eyes appeared more blue than hazel. A trio of guards waited to escort him while the rest dispersed. The child had begun to complain again in that irritating voice.
