“If it had been Prince Sanglant leading us,” said taciturn Leo suddenly, “we’d have won, or we’d not have engaged at all, seeing that the odds were against us.”
“Ai, God, man!” exclaimed Ingo with the sneer of a soldier who has seen twice as much battle as his opinionated comrade, “who was to know that Margrave Judith would fall dead like that, and her whole line collapse? She had a third of our heavy cavalry. With her Austrans routing we hadn’t a chance. Prince Bayan made the best of a bad situation.”
hem not believe he had changed, or faltered.
“This is my decision. It is true that these half-wits are your family just as the dogs who swarm around our halls are my brothers. If you can take care of these half-wits, and if it does not interfere with your labors, then I will not touch them. But I lay the same obligations on you that I did when we agreed to the bargain over your god’s house. As long as their presence among you does not interfere with the tasks set for you by your masters, then you may deal with them as you see fit. If I am dissatisfied, then I will act swiftly.”
“We cannot ask for more than that,” said Deacon Ursuline, quick to seal the bargain.
“No”, he agreed, “you cannot.”
Before he could make any more rash bargains, he walked away, still shaken. Yet because of his keen hearing, he heard them as they spoke to each other in low voices.
“These slaves served the Eika for many years in such tasks as cleaning out the privies. We ought not to waste the labor of those who are clever on that kind of mindless work when they could be doing other things like tanning or building. Surely we can find a place for each person to do some task, even the ones who act little better than dogs.”
Deacon Ursuline did not reply right away. He heard her suck in her breath, as at a blow to the stomach. Where the path knifed into the forest, he paused to listen. Her words drifted to him as faintly as a sigh.
“I served a lord in Saony who was less just than this one.”
Papa Otto made no reply.
Silently, Stronghand followed the path into the forest. There was wisdom in what Papa Otto said, of course. By releasing the strong from tasks that could be as easily done by the weak, all would prosper.
He had acted too hastily in this matter of the half-witted slaves. A wise leader gives enough rope to those clever enough to use it well, as he would need to pay out rope to Tenth Son. Do not keep the loyal ones lashed up too tightly; their obedience is bought by trust, not by fear.
His slaves had not failed him yet, even if they thought, now and again, of rebellion and of freedom. He had no need to say more, or to act other than he had just done. They knew what the consequences would be if they failed him, and they knew what would happen to them if his rule over Rikin Fjord ended.
It was in their interest to keep him strong.
2
“IT’S uncanny, it is,” said Ingo that night at the campfire in the tone of a man who has said the same thing the day before and expects to repeat himself tomorrow. “Rain behind but never before. At least my feet are dry.”
“It’s that weather witch,” said Folquin impulsively. “She’s making it rain on the Quman army and not on us.” His comrades shushed him violently, glancing around as though they feared the wind itself might carry their words to the powerful woman about whom he spoke.
Hanna cupped her hands around a mug in a desperate attempt to keep them warm, for although it was dry, the wind out of the northwest stung like ice. “Have a care, Folquin. Prince Bayan’s mother has an eye for good-looking young men to be her slave bearers, and she might take a liking to you if you come to her attention.”
Ingo, Leo, and Stephen laughed at her jest, but perhaps because Folquin wasn’t the kind of young man girls flocked around, her words stung him. “The way Prince Bayan has an eye for you, Eagle?”
“Hush, now, lad,” scolded Ingo. “It isn’t any fault of Hanna’s that the Ungrians think her light hair a sign of good luck.”
“No matter,” said Hanna quickly as Folquin seemed ready to fall all over himself apologizing for his wretched tongue. “Mind you, Prince Bayan’s a good man—”
“And no doubt would be a better one if he could only keep his hands to himself,” said Folquin with an appeasing grin.
“If a roving eye is the worst of his faults, then God know, he’s better than the rest of us,” replied Ingo. “I’ve no complaints about his leadership in battle. We’d all be heads dangling from Quman belts if it weren’t for his steely nerves at the old high mound last month.”
“If it had been Prince Sanglant leading us,” said taciturn Leo suddenly, “we’d have won, or we’d not have engaged at all, seeing that the odds were against us.”
“Ai, God, man!” exclaimed Ingo with the sneer of a soldier who has seen twice as much battle as his opinionated comrade, “who was to know that Margrave Judith would fall dead like that, and her whole line collapse? She had a third of our heavy cavalry. With her Austrans routing we hadn’t a chance. Prince Bayan made the best of a bad situation.”
“It could have been much worse,” agreed Stephen, but since he was accounted a novice, having survived only one major battle, his opinion was passed over in silence.
The fire popped. Ashy branches settled, gleaming briefly before Leo set another stick on the fire. All around them other campfires sparked and smoked as far as Hanna could see up along the cart track that the army followed as it retreated toward Handelburg. But the sight of so many fires did not make her feel any safer. She sipped at the hot cider, wishing it would warm the chill that constantly ate away at her heart.
Ivar was missing. She’d searched up and down through Bayan’s retreating army and not found a trace of him. She hadn’t even found anyone who remembered seeing him on the day of the battle except the injured prince, Ekkehard, who was so vexed at having lost his favorite, Baldwin, that he couldn’t be bothered to recall where and when he’d last seen Ivar.
“Only God can know the outcome of battles in advance,” she said at last, with a sigh. “It’s no use worrying over what’s already happened.”