“It is true,” she said reluctantly, “but I feel no triumph in victory.”
“That is because we gained no victory. All we managed was no defeat.”
“I met a party of farmers in Aosta. After the griffins rescued me from Zuangua. These farmers had lost their homes to the windstorm. Passing troops had stolen what remained of their stores. No doubt it seemed fitting to that lord and his army to do so, for he must supply his own in order to fight.”
“So he must, but he will not eat the next year if all those who farm for him die of starvation.”
One of the knots plaguing her stomach relaxed. “I suppose that is only one tiny injustice among so many great ones. Yet it makes me think of words Hathui once said: ‘The Lord and Lady love us all equally in Their hearts.”’
“That being so,” he murmured in reply, “why did God make Wichman the son of a duchess and Fulk, who is in every way his superior as a man, the son of a minor steward without rank or standing except that which I give him? Why did I live when all my faithful Dragons died?”
“The church mothers have an answer to all these questions, else we would fall endlessly into the Pit for wondering.”
“What is their answer?”
“I can quote chapter and verse, but in the end, their answers are all the same: Humankind cannot know the mind of God.”
“As dogs cannot know the mind of their master, although they strive to be obedient?”
She laughed.
“I must acquire a pack of loyal hounds, who will sit at my feet and growl at the faithless and remind me of how untrustworthy courtiers can be. Poor things.”
“The dogs, or the courtiers?”
“Do you remember my Eika dogs? What awful creatures they were, not dogs at all, truly. Yet I miss them in one way. I never had to guess their intentions. I could always trust them to go for my throat if they thought I was weakening.”
She hesitated, and he felt the tension in her and turned to kiss her cheek. “Say it. Do not fear me, so that you think you must hold your tongue.”
“Very well, then. Must you be king? With the dogs always circling around?”
“I must,” he said, taking no offense at her question. “Alas that my father is dead. I wish it were otherwise.”
“He has other children.”
“They are not fit. Sapientia you know. Theophanu is capable, but she is too reserved and hasn’t gained the love and support of those she would need to lead. Ekkehard is too light-minded. Henry’s children by Adelheid are too young, and anyway they will receive little support in the north if Adelheid were to claim the Wendish throne for them. They may hope to inherit Aosta if they have survived the storm. Nay, let it be. Henry wished for this for many years. Now it has come to pass. I am his obedient son.”
But because she lay so close against him, she felt his tears.
4
SOON the Arethousan army, in retreat, began to meet refugees on the road. As Hanna tramped along behind the wagon to which her new guards had tied her, she studied the folk huddled at the side of the track. Like most Arethousans, they were swarthy and short, with broad faces and handsome, dark eyes. The women displayed a voluptuous beauty that fear and poverty could not yet disguise. They carried bundles on their backs and sniveling children in their arms. Some pushed handcarts piled with belongings. Now and again she would see a man holding the halter of a donkey. More often a family had two or three scrawny goats tied together on a single lead. Once she saw a bloated corpse, but it wasn’t obvious how the man had died.
They stood silently as the army passed. After a time she began to think they were like the mosaics seen in churches in Darre, figures with kohl-lined eyes and magnificent robes frozen forever against a backdrop of open woodland. Only once did she hear one speak.
“I pray you, I’ll do anything for a piece of bread for me and my child.” A skinny young woman clutched a slack-eyed, emaciated child to her hip as she twitched her rump awkwardly to attract the notice of the soldiers.
Bysantius strode forward before any man could step out of line. He slashed at her face with the quirt. She cried out and retreated up the slope through dry grass that crackled around her. A man emerged out of the woods from behind a stand of prickly juniper. He was tugging up the drawers under his tunic as he sauntered back to join the rest, but before he’d gone three steps a woman appeared.
“You never gave me what you promised!” she shouted.
He didn’t even look back. “I took what you offered, whore!”
Men sniggered, but glanced nervously toward their sergeant.
