He gestured. His four attendants touched their heads to the floor in the servile eastern style, backed away, and knelt at the foot of the dais.
“Your Majesty,” he said. “Holy Mother. I have no fine words. I am only a soldier. I speak with plain words, if you please.”
Antonia began to reply, knowing him impertinent and proud, but Adelheid forestalled her. The young empress was of that type of woman who is susceptible to the appearance of physical strength in a man, thinking that strong arms are preferable to strong faith and a righteous heart.
“Go on, General. I am listening.”
When he met Antonia’s gaze, it was clear he knew she did not approve of him. He judged her, as a man sizes up his opponent before opening battle, and made his attack.
“I ride a long road to come to Aosta. Many bad things I see. There is wasteland, a land of smoking rock. There is drought, dry land, sickness. There is empty land, all the people run away. There is starving. Above, we see no birds but one time a great beast which has brightness like gold. We are attacked three times by beasts, these who have the form of men but the faces of animals. They are wearing armor which I see in the ancient paintings in the halls of Arethousa. The Cursed Ones are returned to Earth. Now they stalk us.”
“These are evil tidings,” agreed Adelheid. “Yet much of this we know ourselves, here in Aosta.”
“This we suffer together.” He nodded.
“What do you want?” demanded Antonia. “You are a heretic, apostate, an Arethousan who lies as easily as breathes and who, like the fox, will steal eggs from a mother’s nest to feed your own kits.”
Adelheid’s hands clenched on the pearls as she rounded on Antonia. “I pray you! Holy Mother, let him speak. I sent envoys to inquire about an alliance. I did not expect the lord general himself to answer my call,”
“What lordship has he?” Antonia inquired sweetly. “Your proud lineage is known to all, Your Majesty. I am a daughter of the royal house of Karrone. What is he?”
He flexed his arms a little. By the breadth and thickness of his hands, one could read his lineage: a man of the sword, grown with the sword, risen by the sword, a general who had fought his entire life. “I married a noble wife,” he said. “Born into the house of Theophanes Dasenia. She is cousin of the last emperor. Also, she is cousin two times removed to the Princess Sophia who marries your King Henry in early days. A clever, industrious woman, proud, a giver of alms. Noble in all ways.”
His breath caught. The assembly was quiet, hearing in his voice a grief that made Antonia, for a moment, feel an inconvenient thread of sympathy wrap her heart. Quickly severed.
“Dead, now.” He was pale. Adelheid, too, had lost her color, and yet in all ways her looks had changed utterly since the general had entered the hall. His interest made her seem younger.
He looked at the empress, but what he saw Antonia could not read in his expression. “Arethousa is fallen, Your Majesty. The city is destroyed. Its people are exiles, those who live. Many more are dead. Even the great church is ruins.”
Adelheid nodded, as if this did not surprise her. Why should it? She had seen Darre.
“What of the young emperor, General Lord Alexandros?” Antonia asked. “Does Lord Niko live?”
He nodded, but his gaze remained fixed on the queen as on the spear of his enemy, which might pierce him at any unguarded moment. “The emperor lives under the skirt of his aunt, Lady Eudokia. She and I were allies once.”
“Once?” Adelheid asked quickly. “No longer?”
He smiled, as if Adelheid’s question were suggestive of brilliance. How easily men of a certain age were dazzled by young, pretty women. Henry had fallen in just such a manner, it was said.
“This is what I say,” he continued. “Lady Eudokia prefers blindness. She walks in the ruins and calls them a palace. I cannot be blind to what I see.”
“What do you want, General?” Antonia asked, seeing it was wise to intercede before the conversation ran out of her control. “I believe that the Empress Queen Adelheid has made a rash suggestion that her daughter might marry the boy who is now Emperor of Arethousa. Is that what you have come to speak of? If so, let us move directly to the point. Speak bluntly, as you soldiers phrase it!”
That one good eye fixed on her briefly and disconcertingly, and he marked her and acknowledged her, but he shifted his attention back to Adelheid.
They always did! Men were fools, not to see where the true power lay. They were unbelievers, not placing their trust in God’s servants first. Not reaching for faith before earthly lusts. Always humankind failed, and it irritated her so much!
“This I hear also on my journey,” he said. “Darre, this great city, also lies in ruins. Poison smoke kills the people who live there. Every person must flee. The city is dead.”
Adelheid did not move, not to nod, not to shake her head. She had grown tense. The pearls pooled in her lap, but she was no longer touching them but rather the arms of her throne as she glared at him.
“What do you want, General? Have you come to mock me?”
“I want to live.” He patted his chest. “I—and you, Your Majesty—stand atop these ruins. Two great cities. Two noble and ancient empires. All ruins.”
She nodded but did not trust herself to speak. Tears filled the queen’s eyes. She had seen so much and lost so much, and his words affected her deeply. All there, in that assembly, strained to listen. He had that capacity, as did Adelheid: that he could draw to him those willing to follow. Like the pearls, he had luster, difficult to see when one first looked at his stocky body, bushy black beard, and terribly scarred face.
“Ruins, yours and mine. To the north, these Ungrians and Wendish, perhaps not so badly harmed. To the east, the heathen Jinna and their fire god. These also, perhaps, have not suffered so badly as we do, but it is hard to say. Last, heed me. Listen well. To the south, the Cursed Ones return. There is land where once there is sea. Already they raid into the north. When they gather an army and move in force … we will be helpless.”