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His listeners laughed, and he went on. “It is a shame, truly, that God should steal such treasures and lock them in the church. I have rarely seen a finer looking woman, as ripe as Aogoste berries. But I had no fortune that day! Her scornful look was enough to wither any man! Still, I wondered about that little child. He had a dusky complexion, you know.”
One of the courtiers chortled. “Mayhap you came to her in the night, like an incubus, Conrad, eh! A year or two previous? She all unwitting? They say holy women have moist dreams!”
Conrad raised a hand to stop the chatter and laughter. “Not me! I would have recalled it! Mayhap, back in those days, the Dragons of those times might have ridden by. In truth, now I think on it, I recall there was talk of them sheltering a night or more in the convent’s guesthouse two years before I came calling. Where such men shelter, one at least might have found a more inviting hall to rest himself. For you know, this was at St. Genovefa’s Convent, and she the saintly patron of dogs.”
That brought a new round of laughter.
“Are you only prattling, Conrad?” asked Sabella, “or do you honestly believe it to be true? Did Sanglant get some bastard child on a holy abbess back when he was captain of Henry’s Dragons? Where is this supposed to have taken place? How can the child’s existence give us an advantage? Otherwise, do not waste my time.”
Her glare cowed the courtiers, but Conrad laughed. He had a remarkable smile, one that invited all folk to smile with him, and he was not afraid to poke fun at himself, although it seemed to Alain that he had made sure that the knife thrust more deeply into his unwitting rival’s flesh. “I will tell tales to please myself and my companions while we ride this dreary road. If not, then you must listen to me sing.”
Even Sabella must chuckle, although the softening lasted only a moment. “Best tell your tales, for I will have none of your singing without my good clerics to make it sweet.”
“And your sweetest singer is fled,” remarked Conrad with an innocent expression. “Fled to the angels from which he arose.”
Her eyes flared, and her horse minced as she jerked the reins. Off along the verge, where the hounds padded, Rage barked, a rumble that startled the nearest horse and set off a chain of missteps among the riders and then the stewards and mounted soldiers behind. “Enough, Conrad!”
“She did not sing for me, that lovely creature,” said Conrad, continuing as if he had not noticed the rogue current he had stirred into life. “Mother Armentaria, I think her name was. I do wonder about my cousin and that dark little creature who held the holy woman’s skirts and stared at me with eyes so rich a brown. A taking thing. I don’t know if it was girl or boy, but it was pretty enough to be either even if scarcely old enough to walk. It might have been a beggar’s child, or a prince’s. How can we know when the mother will not or cannot speak?”
He glanced at Alain before turning his attention back to his courtiers.
“It’s said Prince Sanglant sowed a hundred bastards, being a bastard himself,” said one of the younger courtiers, “but is it true?”
“He’s a handsome man,” said Conrad. “Were I born a woman, instead of a man, I suppose I might try a kiss from him. As it is, I can only envy him, for he has a fair beauty for a wife, a fine creature as bright as fire.”
“Of uncertain lineage,” said Sabella. “Both bastards, most likely. She is excommunicated and accused of being a sorcerer.”
“Yes, truly,” said Conrad with a crooked smile, “it is as well you and I, Sabella, make our way to save our grandfather’s precious kingdom from such usurpers.”
“Your great grandfather,” she said curtly. “Tallia is your very distant cousin.”
“Yes, indeed, distant enough that we might be married with the sanction of the church,” he agreed cordially. He had an expression that might have been amused or annoyed. “Yet when I pressed my suit elsewhere, my dear cousin Henry deemed my cousin Theophanu too close to agree to the alliance.”
“Don’t speak to me of Henry!”
Her look was meant to quell, but Conrad smiled. “We are among allies, Sabella. No one in our retinues will cry to the church that I have married consanguineously. What is it? Seven degrees? Eight? Six? Far enough except for Henry’s taste, since he wanted no such connection between his children and mine.”
“He feared you.”
“Perhaps. I think all along Henry was only waiting.”
“For what?” she asked him, and all the courtiers, heads turning side to side as they looked first at Sabella and then at Conrad and then back again, fixed their attention on Conrad.
“Waiting to find a way to raise Sanglant as heir above Sophia’s children. He found it. We battle not Sanglant, but Henry’s sentimental attachment to the child who could not have the thing Henry most wished to give him. He has gotten it anyway. Sanglant always did seem to get his own way, though he was never gloating or crude about it. The best of men!”
Sabella smiled harshly. “Say you so, Conrad? Will you be turning your milites east to join up with him? The best of men?”
Conrad had such an infectious way of laughing that everyone joined in. When the fit of hilarity had passed, he spoke in a voice whose easy charm did nothing to affect its sincerity. “I am sure of what I want, what I deserve, and what I intend to claim.”
“Horses ahead, my lord duke. My lady.” A sergeant called from the foremost line of riders, and a ripple—men checking swords, easing spears free—passed backward through the company. “Nay, it’s only the scouts.”
Atto returned with the trio of men sent ahead to help him seek out their way, and to make sure he did not bolt. Certainly the lad looked nervous enough, sweating and pale and hair a rat’s nest since he couldn’t stop running his hands through it. He consulted with Sabella’s captain, and in time they came to a fork in the road. Instead of continuing on the main road, they cut into broken woodland along a rutted track where they had to ride two abreast. Their line of march stretched back a good ways. The other nobles competed for position, but Alain hung back and let the main part of the company pass before swinging into line with the wagons. He nodded at the soldier who was riding beside the great cage meant for the guivre.
Sabella must chuckle, although the softening lasted only a moment. “Best tell your tales, for I will have none of your singing without my good clerics to make it sweet.”
“And your sweetest singer is fled,” remarked Conrad with an innocent expression. “Fled to the angels from which he arose.”
Her eyes flared, and her horse minced as she jerked the reins. Off along the verge, where the hounds padded, Rage barked, a rumble that startled the nearest horse and set off a chain of missteps among the riders and then the stewards and mounted soldiers behind. “Enough, Conrad!”
