Sapientia gasped. “I was named as Henry’s heir! This is my army—”
“Nay, Sister. This is my army now.” He beckoned Heribert forward. “I’ll have it now,” he said in a low voice. “It’s time.”
With a brilliant grin, Heribert fished in the pouch hanging from his belt and brought out the gold torque that Waltharia had offered Sanglant months before. The prince took it, twisted the ends, and slid it around his neck. The heavy gold braid rested easily there. He had forgotten how natural its weight felt against his skin, the tangible symbol of his rank, his birthright, and his authority. His soldiers raised their voices in a deafening cheer. Sapientia’s face washed pale, and she swayed as if dizzied by the noise.
Sanglant rode forward to take the rope bound to Bulkezu’s neck out of Ingo’s hand. “My army,” he repeated, “and Bulkezu is my prisoner.” The Quman chieftain said nothing, only watched, but his lips quirked up as if he were about to break out laughing. Sanglant turned to address Judith’s daughter. “Lady Bertha, have we an agreement?”
“Ekkehard to marry my sister in return for my troops riding under your command? I’ll accept that exchange.” She grinned. “I was hoping there might be more fighting.”
He stood in his stirrups, half turning to survey the soldiers winding back into the woods, awaiting his command. He pitched his voice to carry toward the rear ranks. “The war is not over yet, although we’ve won a great victory here. The threat to Wendar from the Quman is ended. But our enemies have not been defeated. Now I’m riding east. Who will ride with me?”
Not one among that host refused him.
XIX
THE UNVEILING
1
ADICA returned home just after sunset, stepping from southern heat to autumn chill as she crossed through the gate woven of starlight and set foot on familiar ground. She stood shivering and coughing as her lungs made the adjustment, as she struggled to place herself in the wheel of the year. The heavens were unbelievably clear. A full moon rose in the east, washing a silvery light over the sky that obscured all but the brightest stars.
Those bright stars told her what she needed to know. By the position of the Dipping Cup, swinging low in the north, and the trail of the Serpent along the southwestern horizon, she knew that the autumn equinox would have fallen just before the last new moon. That being so, the sun was only a short way from reaching the nadir of the heavens along its cyclical journey, and therefore she had less than a moon’s cycle left to her before that night came in which all the alignments of the stars and the heavens were in place for the great working.
She would never see another full moon.
She would never again lie with Alain and caress his body with only the moon to watch over them.
Unable to help herself, she wept. Far to the south, Shu-Sha’s weaving would tens of days ago have faded into sparks lost in the night, just as Alain and the men left behind to guard him had been lost. She twisted the lapis lazuli ring on her finger and with an effort wiped away her tears. Shu-Sha had scolded her more than once during the five days she had dwelt in her hall down in the southern lands.
“Do not mourn over the happiness you were fortunate enough to possess, lest you turn that joy into grief. Be glad that you had what others may never in their lives experience. The gods have dealt kindly with you, Daughter.”
It was impossible to argue with Shu-Sha, the great queen, who with her vast girth and magnificent beauty was often called the living embodiment of the Fat One, most powerful of the gods because she held both life and death in her hands. The people ruled over by Queen Shuashaana did not call their goddess the Fat One in their own language, of course, but in her heart Adica knew it was the same power who lived in both places no matter what name was used.
As a child, she had learned to stifle her tears and get on with it. She slung her pack over her shoulder and set off for the village. Her people had been busy. The lower embankment circling the tumulus had a stout palisade of logs set around it as far as she could see under moonlight. Piles of fresh earth alternated with crude shelters built for the workmen on lower ground between the ramparts. A whistling man came walking around the curve of one rampart, saw her, and stopped short. He put a horn to his lips and blew, three times, to alert the village.
“Who is there?” she called, not recognizing him, but he ran away. He had recognized her, and feared her, just as they all had in the days before Alain had come.
The lower ramparts overlapped to make a cleft between them, an easily defended opening. The workers had dug a steep ditch here and lined the bottom with stakes; planks thrown down over the ditch made a bridge. Two adults stood on sentry duty, but they shielded their eyes and murmured polite greetings without looking at her.
When she emerged from the cleft she looked down the slope at the village and, by aid of the moon’s light, surveyed the change two seasons had wrought. In the time she had been gone, the villagers had finished building the log palisade around the village, with watch posts set up at intervals and a double tower on either side of the gate. Torches burned at each watch post. Sentries stood by the torches, looking out into the night. How strange to see her peaceful village transformed into a camp made ready for war. How strange to see the serpentlike earthworks bristling with wood posts, like the ridged back of a sinuous dragon at rest.
It ruined the peace of the landscape. Yet they could only live in peace and without constant fear once the Cursed Ones were defeated. Her own sorrow, her own life, meant little compared to the life of the tribe. She hardened her heart as she descended the path.
The plank bridge had been drawn back, exposing a fresh ditch lined with pointed stakes. Lifting her staff, she shook the bells, calling out to the guard at the gate.
“Hallowed One!” By chance, her cousin Urtan stood on gate duty this night. Soon enough, the gate was opened, the plank bridge thrust across, and she welcomed inside.
“Where is Alain?” Urtan asked. Other villagers, alerted by the horn call, hurried up as torches ringed her.
“We despaired of you, Hallowed One!”
“The Fat One is merciful, Hallowed One. She brought you back to us!”
Beor shouldered through the crowd, pushing forward to see her. “Where is Alain?” he demanded.
Thinking of Alain made her so tired that she thought she might fall down where she stood, only no one here could touch her to lift her up again. Only Alain could do that.
“Let me sleep,” she said hoarsely, unable to say more. She had to choke her heart as in a fist; she dared not start crying now.