“Wife.” He rose to take Sapientia’s hand. The princess hadn’t moved. One of her stewards held a ceramic lamp, a rooster crowing a lick of flame, and the light softened her expression and made her black hair glisten like fine silk. “To you, this task. Ekkehard must ride at dawn with the Eagle.”
“Is this wise?” demanded Sapientia.
“He and other prisoners must ride. We need no—what is this, Breschius, nothing to make our minds fall away from the war.”
“No distractions, Your Highness.”
“Yes, none of this thing which I cannot pronounce. Consider, how matters are desperate. The biscop is a godly woman, I know this. But she believes God come before war. Bulkezu waits not for God.” He indicated the altar and the wreath of candles burning there, the light of the Unities.
“But where do we send Ekkehard?”
“Let him go to the march of the Villams. There he can fight. There he will die or live, as God will it. He and his retinue can escort the Eagle so far, out of danger. She must to Henry go, and speak our trouble. But Ekkehard will I not have in Handelburg. That he is prisoner here makes strife in our camp. We have very bad of a situation. If King Henry send no reinforcements, if he not march east himself, then Bulkezu will burn all these lands. This is a hard truth. Maybe we can hold here for a while. If we have no strife in our army. If we have no dis—ah! No distraction.”
“It’s a good plan,” said Sapientia slowly as she considered his words. That was the great change Bayan had wrought in her; she had learned to think things over. “Ekkehard might still die, fighting the Quman, but that would be a better death for him than being executed for heresy. As a prisoner, his presence can only make things more difficult for us. Some will surely sympathize with his plight. He may still whisper his wicked words to the guards, and maybe there are some in the army who still believe him but lied about it at the trial because they did not want to get punished.”
Bayan nodded.
“But how will I free him from my aunt’s tower? She will excommunicate me for aiding him.”
Brother Breschius stepped forward. “You are the heir, Your Highness. You have already proved your fitness to rule. Think of this as a test of your regnancy. Biscop Alberada would not contest King Henry, were he to tell her that Prince Ekkehard must be sent to the Villam fortress for safekeeping, with or without a large escort, for surely in such times of trouble we cannot afford to lose a large number of men to guard duty. Nor should she contest you, who are destined to rule after your father, may God will that he be blessed with a long life.”
Sapientia twisted the fine embroidered border of her tunic in her hands, crushing roundels between her fingers. The gesture made her look a little like a goose girl about to scold her lover. Yet even a humble goose girl might develop the habit of command.
For an instant, Hanna remembered what Hathui used to say: God make the sun rise on noblewoman and commoner alike, for all folk are equal before God. What truly separated Hanna from Sapientia?
Sapientia lowered her hands. She had a queen’s bearing; in that moment, in the gloomy church with the silent saints staring down at them from on high, one could see the luck of the regnant in her face. “I will speak to my aunt. Ekkehard will ride out at dawn, to escort the Eagle until it is safe for her to ride on alone.”
Hanna laughed softly to herself. At herself. God had long since separated the lowborn from the high, no matter what Hathui said. A few words exchanged, and Hanna’s fate was sealed.
“Eagle.” Bayan rose. His gaze on her was steady, a little admiring still, but quite final, as though he knew he had said farewell to her for the last time. “By no means turn south until you have come west of the Oder River. Even then, be cautious. The Quman range far.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Ekkehard is young and foolish, snow woman,” he added. “Take care of him.”
“Come, we should go,” said Sapientia sharply. Bayan went obediently. He did not even glance back. His husky, authoritative figure faded into the gloom alongside that of the princess. Hanna heard them continue talking although she could not make out their words.
Breschius lingered. He took her hand and drew her forward to stand before the altar. “Trust in God, friend Hanna.” He made the sign of a blessing over her.
“I thank you, Brother. In truth, I feel afraid.”
He walked with her to the entryway, still holding her hand. His grasp felt comfortable, like a lifeline. Once they stood on the porch, beyond the most holy precincts, he bent his head to speak softly into her ear. “Never forget that a Kerayit princess has marked you as her luck.”
The silence, and the secrecy, and the strange tone in his voice, like doom, made her shudder. Death had brushed her with its cold, callous hand.
They left in the cold light of dawn, Hanna, Prince Ekkehard, his six noble companions, and the twenty other heretics, excommunicates all. Sixteen of them marched, since Bayan did not care to lose so many horses.
Frost made the ground icy, a thin crust that hooves and boots crushed easily. As they crossed the western bridge, Hanna looked back to see Lord Dietrich’s head stuck on a pike above the gate. After that, she could not bring herself to look back again. Ivar was probably dead anyway. Looking back would not bring him to life. She kept her gaze fixed on Ekkehard’s banner, fluttering weakly in a lazy wind. The rain that had followed them for so long had passed. They rode out in cold, hard weather with the sun glaring down and not a feather’s weight of warmth in it.
Hanna had not even been given leave to say farewell to her friends among the Lions. Ekkehard’s escape had an unsavory air about it, tainted by Lord Dietrich’s ghastly death and the threat of excommunication.
They saw no sign of Quman scouts.
It seemed an inauspicious way to ride out.
VIII
UNKNOWN