Hanna made the sign of the circle at her breast. Death or a blessing. Those words seemed apt enough. It was the kind of thing her mother would say.
“Come, Hanna. Let’s sleep. There’s bound to be more and much more running to do tomorrow.” Hathui kissed Hanna affectionately on the forehead and took her by the arm. “We’ll get our blankets. We can bed down here, at the foot of the king’s chair.”
“At the foot of the king’s chair!” This was such a signal honor that Hanna wondered if her parents would ever believe it had actually been granted to their very own daughter.
“Indeed, he said so himself. He’s a fine lord, is our king, and I am proud to serve him.”
In the morning, just after the office of Terce—the third hour of the day—was sung, another Eagle rode in. He came from the west. He was faint with exhaustion; his horse had foundered.
Grooms took his horse. Hathui took him in hand and with Hanna following at her heels led him to where the king held audience with Helmut Villam, the margrave, Judith, and others of the nobles in attendance, discussing the final plans for their dispersal to collect armies that could ride to Gent. Henry broke off their conversation and rose.
The Eagle threw himself on his knees before the king. “Your Majesty.” He could barely speak, his voice was so hoarse.
“Bring him mead,” said the king, and mead was brought.
The man gulped down a cup of the honey-flavored wine, and it soothed his coughing. He apologized. “I beg pardon, Your Majesty.”
“Your news?”
“It is terrible news, Your Majesty.” Almost, the man wept. “I am come from Autun. I have ridden four days and five nights, stopping only to change horses.” He shut his eyes.
The tension in the chamber became unbearable as everyone present waited for him to continue. Hanna tried desperately to remember where Autun was, and what its significance might be. Wasn’t it the seat of a biscophric? Yes! That was it: Henry’s younger sister Constance was biscop of Autun.
As she remembered this, the Eagle took hold of himself and continued speaking. “I was able to escape Autun because of the aid of Biscop Constance’s chatelaine. Autun is now in the hands of Lady Sabella.”
Several of the courtiers spoke at once, then fell silent when Henry raised a hand. The king looked grave, as well he might. “The city has fallen?”
The Eagle spoke on a sigh. “By treachery, Your Majesty. Biscop Constance is a prisoner in the hands of Lady Sabella and her retainers. Sabella has installed Helvissa as biscop of Autun.”
“Helvissa, whom I removed eight years ago with the consent of the others biscops of the realm?”
“Indeed, the same one, Your Majesty. Autun surrendered without a fight out of respect for the safety of Biscop Constance. Not one soul in Autun considers Helvissa their rightful lord. But that is not all. Sabella has an army, and Duke Rodulf of Varingia marches with her.”
None moved or spoke, waiting for the king’s reaction.
All Hanna could think of were those awful words: “Sabella has an army.”
“What of Duke Conrad of Wayland?” Henry asked quietly.
Hanna did not recall how Duke Conrad of Wayland fit into the convoluted kinship surrounding the king’s court and that of the great princes, but to everyone else, the question seemed fraught with meaning. All waited. Villam wiped his lips with a knuckle. Duchess Liutgard—who had not yet left, though she was dressed for riding—clasped and unclasped her hands nervously.
But the Eagle only shook his head. He looked utterly exhausted. “I do not know if he marches with her or if he does not. I had to escape in the middle of the night. I have no information beyond that—only that Sabella marches east.”
East. Even Hanna knew what that meant. East, to Wendar.
“She swore me an oath,” said Henry even more softly. He looked furious and his movements, as he turned to beckon to those closest to him, were as taut as those of a lion’s, waiting to pounce. But he did not rage out loud. “Wendar itself is in danger. Sabella rebels against my authority and that rebellion we cannot tolerate. We cannot ride to Gent.”
The words struck Hanna like a hammer’s blow.
“Ai, Lady,” she murmured, her heart leaden in her chest. What was going to happen to Liath?
4
“WE cannot ride to Gent.”
What cost to Henry to utter those words?
Rosvita glanced at Villam, saw him looking at her in that same instant, as though they shared a thought. Three legitimate children Henry had. For the sake of the kingdom, he must risk the loss of the fourth.
