The Burning Stone (Crown of Stars 3)

“No, no!” he cried cheerfully. “Always I make these poems that others say is no good, not like the true poets. But I do not mind their laughter. These words is from my heart.”

“Ai, God,” said Alberada under her breath. “A bad poet. It is as well he is a good fighter, Your Highness.”

But Sapientia was glowing. “You crafted that poem yourself, for me? Let us hear it again!”

He was happy to oblige, and this time was not interrupted by the princess’ laughter. The poem had some kind of refrain, and each time it came around, the Ungrians would all jump to their feet, cry out a phrase with one voice, and drain their wine cups. While this went on interminably, Hanna ate the scraps off Sapientia’s platter, shoved forgotten to one side. She was terribly hungry, although now and again Sapientia would offer her own cup to drink from. The hall stank of wine, and urine.

The poem was followed by a display of wrestling, clearly meant to inflame female desire because the young Ungrian warriors stripped down to less clothing than Hanna had ever seen on a grown man in such a public place, just breechclouts covering their groins, and then oiled their skin until they gleamed, all moist and slippery. Did the curtains of the palanquin part slightly? Did she see a hand, fingers studded with rings, part the silk, and a suggestion of movement behind, someone peeking out to observe?

She leaned down to speak into Sapientia’s ear. “I wonder if you ought to offer to share food with Prince Bayan’s mother, Your Highness. I haven’t seen a single platter taken to her.”

Sapientia seemed startled by this oversight. “Will your mother not take supper with us, Prince Bayan?”

He changed color, kissed the tips of the fingers of his right hand, and made to throw something invisible over his left shoulder. “Not proper.” He glanced nervously toward the palanquin and the sheet of gold fabric that concealed the woman within. “My mother a powerful sorcerer, I think you name it, of the Kerayit peoples, very strong in magic they are. They are the enemies of the Ungrian people, that is why my father marry her. In our language we call her a shaman. For her it is not allowed to share meat with people not of her kin.”

“But you and I are to be wed! That makes me kin to her.”

He grinned. “Not wed until man and woman join in the bed. Yes?”

She flushed. “That is the custom in my land, yes.”

“Has your mother accepted the Holy Word and the Circle of Unity?” asked the biscop tartly.

He blinked, surprised. “She a good Kerayit princess. Her gods will take her power if she do not to them give the sacrifice. That is why she cannot be seen in this company.”

“A heathen,” muttered Alberada. “But you worship at the altar of God, Prince Bayan.”

“I am good worshiper,” he agreed, glancing at the frater as if to be sure he had said the words correctly. The man leaned down and whispered into his ear, and Bayan nodded, then turned to the biscop and spoke again, more emphatically. “I follow the Holy Word of God in Unity.”

As if these words gave a signal, men lit torches and set them into sconces along the walls. The biscop rose with regal grace; although not tall, she had a queenly breadth of figure. Like her illegitimate nephew, Sanglant, she wore the gold torque that marked her royal kinship, although, like him, she could not aspire to the throne—unless the rumor was true that Henry himself conspired to place his illegitimate son on the throne after him. Hanna was not a fool: she listened, and she observed. Why would Henry marry his daughter to a man who, although renowned as a strong fighter, was unlikely to command respect and loyalty in Wendar itself? Only Sapientia seemed unaware of the implications of her father’s choice for her marriage partner. Face bright and eyes glittering, she rose to stand beside Alberada as the biscop called the company to order.

“As night falls over this hall, let God’s will be worked in this matter.”

There were the usual pledges, an exchange of marriage portions: a disputed-border region made over to Prince Bayan, a tribe whose tribute would henceforth grace Wendish coffers instead of going to the Ungrian king, many precious vessels from King Henry of Salian and Aostan manufacture, and from the east two wagons heaped with gold that Bayan’s men pulled into the hall. Hanna had never seen such an astounding display of pure gold, not even on Henry’s progress. It gleamed with a muted, almost ominous presence, heaped up like so much casually discarded debris.

The biscop spoke words of blessing over them, and there were toasts to their health, to Bayan’s virility, and to Sapientia’s womanly strength.

“‘Let us contest with swords not with words,’” cried Bayan, “‘and if not in battle with worthy opponents then in the bed of a handsome woman.’” He laughed as he tossed off another cup of wine. He had an amazing capacity to drink and had only had to leave the table twice to pee. He turned to his betrothed with a grin. “These words is teach to me by your brother, the famous warrior Bloody Fields, who makes the land to run red with the blood of his enemies. But you name him differently in your own tongue.” He spoke to the frater, grunted, and tried the word on his tongue but could not make it come out like anything intelligible.

“Do you mean Sanglant?” demanded Sapientia. “You have met Sanglant!”

“Hai—ai! We fight the Quman together these five years past. It is a good battle! They run, and do not to come back. He is alive still, your brother?”

“He is still alive,” said Sapientia curtly, and seemed about to say more when shouting rose from the far end of the hall.

“Make way! Make way!” Two men in soiled clothing came forward and knelt before the high table.

“What is this?” asked the biscop. “Is the news you bring so urgent that it cannot wait until morning?”

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace,” said the elder of the two. He had a reddish beard and a scar above his left eye. “We have had news of several raids beyond the town of Meilessen. There have been more than a dozen such raids, villages burned, many people killed and some beheaded, so it is said. It is hard to know how long ago this began, twenty days or more, but the raiders are moving west. We thought it best to tell you as soon as we entered Handelburg.”

The frater had been translating, and now Prince Bayan got to his feet and gestured for a servant to take wine to the two men. “Who does this raiding?” he asked, but he seemed already to know the answer.

“It is the Quman, my lord,” said the man, startled as he now took in the assembly of Ungrian warriors mixed together with Wendish folk.

Bayan set his teeth in a vicious smile, an expression quite at odds with his usual jolly demeanor. “What mark do they bear, these Quman?”

The spokesman consulted with his companion, then looked toward the biscop for permission to speak. Sapientia stirred restlessly, then rose, too, a pallid echo of Bayan’s movement. The spokesman acknowledged her with a bow, but it was obvious he did not recognize her as Henry’s eldest daughter and putative heir.