Despite the drizzle, Zacharias could see its square tower from their fortified camp set up around a ruined watchtower that overlooked the steep river valley.
He could also see a Quman army encamped on the river plain outside Walburg’s palisade and double ditch.
If they captured him, he’d go for the quick death. Fear warred with hatred; neither could win. All that mattered right now was that he didn’t see the mark of the Pechanek clan displayed from any of the tent poles. As long as Bulkezu was far away, he could survive the morning with a stalwart heart.
“My lord prince.” Captain Fulk came in with the evening’s report. “Everwin and Wracwulf killed another Quman scout and brought in his wings.”
Under the shelter of an awning strung between the walls of the ancient round tower, Prince Sanglant lounged at his ease on a pillow while he rolled dice with his daughter and her nursemaid. Soldiers sat around them sharpening swords, polishing helmets, and repairing harness. A handful of young lords sat uncomfortably in this rustic camp, used, perhaps, to more luxurious campaigns, but Sanglant rode without the extravagance of camp followers, concubines, and an extensive baggage train. Unlike most nobles, he shared the conditions of his soldiers. It was one of the reasons they loved him.
Several braziers had been set out, over which strips of meat roasted; smoke stung Zacharias’ eyes as he ducked in from the back.
“This is the fifth group we’ve encountered and certainly the largest. Have we an estimate of their numbers yet?”
“Not more than two hundred, Your Highness.”
Blessing jumped to her feet and dashed over to present Fulk, one of her favorites, with two of the dice. “You roll ’em,” she said enthusiastically, as pure a command as Zacharias had ever heard. “You roll ’em, Cappen Fulk.”
He grinned. Like the rest of the company, he would have walked through fire for his little empress, as they called her. “I’ll roll them, Your Highness, but I’ve got to make this report to my lord prince first.”
She glanced at her father, stamped her foot impatiently, but quailed at once when Sanglant frowned at her. With a fierce expression of disgust, she crossed her arms on her chest and glowered.
“I pray you, Your Highness, come sit beside me while you wait.” The nursemaid’s hoarse little voice was like a soft echo of the prince. “We haven’t done carding that wool.”
“Don’t want to.”
“But you shall,” said Sanglant.
“Shall not!”
“Than I shall do it myself,” said the nursemaid tartly, sitting back and beginning to card wool over the comb. “Because I like to do it and I don’t want to share doing it with you.”
This was too much for Blessing. She trotted over on her short legs and crouched down to get a good look, biting her lip fretfully. “Can I try? Can I?”
“Here, you hold the handle like this—”
Zacharias wiped raindrops from his forehead and sat down beside Heribert, who was playing chess with Wolfhere. “I can’t take a turn around the camp without coming in to find she’s grown another finger’s span,” he said, examining the little girl uneasily. She had lost her infant roundness. Her face had gotten leaner, making her blue-green eyes stand out even more than they had before. Wisps of black hair curled everywhere around her face where it escaped from her braid.
Heribert glanced at him. “It’s not her doing.”
“Nor did I say it was. But you must admit it’s uncanny to see a child grow so quickly. It isn’t natural. She must age a week for every day that passes.”
“I thought it might stop once the daimone left us,” murmured Heribert, looking round to see if the prince was listening, but Sanglant appeared to be deep in conversation with Captain Fulk. “But God know it hasn’t. Lord bless us. She was born on the seventh day of Avril, on the feast day of St. Radegundis. One year and three months ago. Yet she looks like any well-grown three-year-old.”
“It’s your move,” said Wolfhere patiently.
“Do you know, Eagle,” said Zacharias irritably, “I think I particularly dislike that smirking little smile you wear on your face all the time. You know a lot more than you are telling us.”
“So I do, but in the matter of the child I know as little as you do.”
“Spoken contemptuously!”
“Hush, now,” said Heribert. “No need to quarrel. If I’ve made peace of a kind with Wolfhere, so can you.”
“I’m not meaning to quarrel,” replied Zacharias, angry at himself for letting his envy of Wolfhere’s knowledge get the better of him. “I just don’t like secrets. You know well enough, Wolfhere, that I’d be your pupil in whatever you cared to teach me, if you had a mind to. But you’ve made clear it that you won’t teach me or anyone else. Except the absent Liath who, I swear to you, I’m beginning to quite dislike even though I’ve never met her.”
“You jealous bastard,” said Heribert with a laugh.
“It’s still your move,” said Wolfhere.