Lady Waltharia did indeed escort them to Walburg, but she left them at the gates in the care of a steward and herself rode off to pursue their enemies.
Planks had been thrown hastily down over the outer ditch to accommodate the sally. Anna walked over, feeling safer that way as a servant led her mule. The planks shifted under her feet, and she had to throw out her arms to keep her balance before she reached solid ground. The next bridge led directly under the wall, guard towers looming on either side and murder holes spaced at intervals. She heard voices murmuring down the holes and glimpsed movement, soldiers watching from the safety of their fortifications. The gate creaked open; they passed through into Walburg itself.
For a city under siege it was remarkably clean and orderly. Avenues wrapped around the hill where the original fort had risen. Newer streets, all of them lined with plank walkways, radiated outward from the cathedral square. Tents had been thrown up in the square and in a handful of vacant lots in neat lines to accommodate refugees, but most of the unbuilt ground had been given over to orchards and gardens, provision against the siege. Smaller than Gent’s cathedral, the basilica of St. Walaricus had a tidy look about it, everything squared off, the lintels painted with intertwined spirals and linked circles flowering into wreaths and the tower decorated with a carved tree on each face, painted silver.
“The Villam sigil is the silver tree,” explained Zacharias as they passed through the cathedral square on their way up to the fortified palace.
“So it is,” agreed Heribert, “but so also was St. Walaricus martyred by being hung from a tree by a heathen prince.”
“Clever of Villam to dedicate the cathedral to Walaricus, was it not? Then he could have it both ways.”
Heribert looked surprised. Anna liked him much better than she liked Zacharias, who had spit in God’s face, but even so, he made her kind of uncomfortable just because he was always so tidy and clean even in the worst camp conditions. Sometimes she just didn’t see the point of being so fussy.
“Do you think Villam chose to dedicate his cathedral to St. Walaricus just so he could display his own sigil upon the church tower without anyone calling him to account for such presumptu-ousness?”
Zacharias laughed. “Do you suppose Villam did not? He’s a more clever man than I, friend.”
“Than I devoutly pray we be spared his intrigues.”
Zacharias merely smiled. Anna didn’t trust him when he smiled, no more than she trusted the old Eagle Wolfhere who, like any wolf, looked as ready to bite you as to lick your hand.
The men-at-arms, even Matto, were led to the barracks, but Blessing and her personal retinue were given a tower room in the palace, good enough to see out along the river. There was a bed all downy soft, a smaller trundle bed heaped high with a feather quilt, and four sleeping pallets stacked against one wall. A half-dozen braziers heavy with coals warmed the chilly room. Anna sat cross-legged on the thick carpet since Zacharias, Wolfhere, and Heribert took the bench and chair. Blessing decided to sit on the table, right in the center, where she could command the servants as they brought in a hearty meal of chicken basted in mustard and parsley, a juicy broth, leeks cooked in butter, slices of veal with a mint sauce spooned over it, and honey dumplings.
The rich meal made Anna burp. She curled up at the foot of the bed, suddenly so sleepy that she wanted nothing better than a nap.
Woke to a shriek.
“Dada! Dada! See me up here!”
“Lord save us, Your Highness!” That was Heribert, frantic. “You’ll fall to your death!”
Hiding from the Eika, Anna had learned to wake quickly and with all her wits intact. She leaped up in time to see Wolfhere grab Blessing bodily and sweep her down from the window ledge. The girl shrieked louder, if that was possible, twisted in Wolfhere’s grasp, and bit his wrist, hard.
He yelped and dropped her.
“Now there’s a child whose taste I admire.” An elderly woman wearing the badge of an Eagle moved in through the door, leaning heavily on a cane. She measured each person in the chamber with a keen gaze more likely to chill than to warm. Even Blessing, drawing breath for a good, loud, outraged scream, deflated abruptly, staring at the new arrival with puzzlement. “So, Wolfhere, I had prayed I might never have the pleasure of seeing you again.”
“I beg your pardon, Hedwig,” he said. “Out of respect, I’ll offer no ‘hail, fellow, and well met.’”
“I expected you’d be dead by now.”
“I heard you were.”
She snorted. “It will take more than five Quman arrows to kill me.”