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Constance shook her head. Carefully, she took hold of the steward’s wrist in a light but firm grasp. “What mean you by this mention of a guivre?”
As the sergeant turned away to order his men off to get drink, the steward bent until her lips were within a hand’s breadth of Constance’s ear. “There came reports that a guivre had been sighted in the forest lands west of here. It was killing people and livestock. The lady and the duke went riding, hoping to capture it. They came back mightily displeased, for they found no trace of it despite all their tramping and hunting. Then the news of the usurper came from Kassel. They left so quickly, the lady had no instructions except to bid me hold Autun safely against her return.”
Constance glanced at Ivar. “Do you suppose she forgot me in the heat of the moment?”
“Surely not!” cried the steward, and the sergeant looked back as she hastily straightened up and continued in a normal tone. “I must ask that you be conveyed to the lady straight away, Your Holiness! You cannot return to Lavas Holding!”
“What news from Kassel?” asked Constance, but with the sergeant listening, the steward only shrugged.
“It was all so confused, Your Grace. Queen Tallia was sent to Bederbor to recover her health. A determined band of rogues are causing trouble along the border to the southwest where Arconia meets the lands of both Varingia and Salia. We hear rumors of reavers with poisoned arrows harrying travelers along the roads leading east into Fesse. The usurper was anointed and crowned in Quedlinhame, Osterburg, and Gent, and parades around with an adventus as though he were not merely a bastard. Then there came this news of some manner of skirmish at Kassel. A captain loyal to Sabella sent word he was attacked by the usurper’s forces. So the lady and the duke rode out to bring him aid.”
“Lord Geoffrey’s boys?” Constance pressed.
The steward spoke in a forcibly cheerful voice. “In good health, together with Conrad’s newborn, the little lad we all thought would perish but is marvelous robust and thriving, God be praised. It was a miracle.”
“A miracle?” asked Constance sharply. “Why do you say so?”
“Him all blue and not breathing when he was born? The midwife fled, she was so fearful of being punished, because that one—Queen Tallia, that is, God bless her—throws weak whelps. Only the eldest girl lived out of the other three she bore. Yet I don’t think the midwife was at fault.”
“It’s rare that a child born blue and not breathing can be described as robust,” remarked Constance. “What happened to make you say it was a miracle?”
“His still body was dropped right in front of the altar. Accidentally, I mean. That man caught him, the bastard born—”
“Sanglant?”
“Nay, Your Grace. The one from Lavas.”
“Ah!” Constance nodded. “Go on.”
“Everyone said that any child dropped before the altar must be destined for the church, so God must have spared him for Her service and Her greater glory.”
“Truth rises with the phoenix,” said Baldwin.
The steward startled, like a rabbit spotting a hawk, and she began to weep.
“Best we ride on,” said the sergeant. “No use waiting here. Lady Sabella was very strong with her direction: Bring the biscop to me.”
He called to his soldiers, and they finished their mugs of drink and wiped their mouths and hurried back to pick up the chair. They hauled Constance away to a chamber in the palace where she was sequestered. Her clerics followed her, and by the time they had settled themselves for the night, they discovered that they had only closemouthed soldiers as their keepers and no servants to ask for the local gossip.
They rode out of Autun the next morning. Many folk waited along the streets to watch as they rode past, and many of these made a sign with their hands, thumb curled around bent middle and little fingers with the other two fingers outstretched like horns on the head of an animal.
“Truth rises with the phoenix,” they called. Some strewed flowers in front of Baldwin’s horse, while others wept and prostrated themselves as the wagon in which Constance rode rumbled past.
Beyond Autun their party rode to the ferry, where they waited half the morning as they were borne across in stages. The clouds were high today and the light almost made Ivar squint.
“Look there,” he said, nudging Ermanrich. “Downstream. Is that smoke?”
The second cart arrived on the eastern shore with the last of the escort. The sergeant had also seen the smoke, which rose several leagues away beyond woodland and fields. He got his men moving eastward along the road but lingered with the rear guard as Constance’s wagon trundled out. Ivar hung back as the other clerics rode off in attendance on the wagon. The smoke had a chary black undercoating to it, and it boiled.
“I don’t like the look of that,” said the sergeant to his trio of scouts. “Someone’s good stable is burning down, that’s what I think.”
“Bandits?” Ivar asked, and the sergeant looked at him in surprise.
“Weren’t you up riding with the others?”
“I like to keep my eye out, too.”
This sergeant was a homely fellow, thick-shouldered, thick-necked, and with a habit of speaking slowly and simply that might make a person think him thick-witted. He nodded, squinching his eyes as he studied Ivar with a frown. “Fair enough. I don’t like the look of that. Let’s move on.”
