Child of Flame

“So let the holy St. Herodia speak her blessings upon Us all,

For her word is the word of truth.”

As he finished, he heard the prince mutter an exclamation just as Lord Hrodik jumped to his feet.

“Look here, cousin!” cried the young lord as a dozen townsfolk entered the hall, looking nervously about themselves. Unfortunately, the young woman standing at the head of the party with the scarf signifying her status as a respectable householder tied over her hair was even prettier than the servingwoman. Sanglant rose with cup in hand and his familiar, captivating smile on his face.

“Come, Mistress Suzanne,” exclaimed Hrodik impatiently as she and her kinfolk hesitated. “I have called you to attend me here in order to honor you, not to eat you.” He giggled at his own joke. Certain of his attendants made laughing noises as well, glancing over at the prince to see if he found the comment as funny as Hrodik did. But the prince had not taken his gaze from Mistress Suzanne’s person since she’d entered the hall. Hrodik made a great show of leaving his place at the high table and moving out to the center of the hall, his feet half smothered in rushes, where he must become the center of attention simply by virtue of his position.

“You must not fear to stand before Prince Sanglant, for truly he is a noble prince and no harm will come to you. Come forward, for I mean to show Prince Sanglant what help we can be to him, here in Gent. His soldiers aren’t properly outfitted for this winter weather. I mean to convince him to abide a while here while we provide him with such cloaks and armor as is fitting to his magnificence.” He almost fell over himself with eagerness as he beckoned to the pretty servingwoman, who appeared at a side door. “Come, now, Frederun. Do you now bring forward those gifts which I mean to present to the prince, so that he may later boast of the fine hospitality he met in my hall!”

Sanglant still hadn’t taken his gaze from Mistress Suzanne, but she had not looked at him at all, except for one shuttered glance. The man beside her kept his hand on her arm.

“Well,” Heribert murmured as Zacharias sidled over to stand behind his chair, “there’s one who’s as handsome as Liath.”

Sanglant glanced down at Heribert with a sharp smile composed more of irritation than amusement. “I am not my father, Heribert.”

“Nay,” agreed Heribert companionably, “for King Henry was famous for never walking down the path of debauchery, even after his wife died.”

“How can sinless congress, when a woman and a man of their own free will join together for mutual pleasure, be counted debauchery? The Lord and Lady conceived the Holy Word between them, Brother, is that not so? Is not the universe and Earth their creation, brought about by desire?”

“By joining together in lawful congress.”

Sanglant laughed, and every soul in the hall turned to look at him. “Truly, Heribert, it does me no good to dispute church doctrine with you.” He sat down abruptly and lowered his voice. “But I swear to you, friend, 1 do not think I can remain virtuous much longer.”

Lord Hrodik bustled forward to meet the servant Frederun, who held a fine scarlet cloak in her arms. Behind her, a young servingman carried an object draped with a sheet of linen. Hrodik grabbed the cloak out of her arms and shook it free to well-deserved exclamations of delight and amazement from the feasting crowd. The cloak was masterfully woven out of thread dyed a rich scarlet hue and trimmed by an accomplished hand with an embroidered edge of golden dragons twined each about the next.

“This is the work of Mistress Suzanne, whom I bring to your attention, Your Highness. Let me present it to you as a gift, for truly it is worthy of your eminence.” Hrodik had gotten quite breathless with excitement as he draped the cloak over Sanglant’s arms. His thin, pimply face shone with pride as he beckoned the young weaver forward, although she came reluctantly.

“Fine work, truly,” said the prince in a tone that suggested that he praised the woman as much as the cloak. She still did not look at him.

“How many cloaks do you need for your soldiers?” demanded Hrodik. “Truly, you have full sixty soldiers in your retinue.”

“Seventy-one,” said Sanglant.

The weaver paled. “My lord, I can’t supply you with so much cloth in so short a time!”

“Nay,” cried Lord Hrodik expansively, “it need not be a short time. They can’t ride east in this cold, nor with the spring thaws coming. I see no reason they can’t abide with us for two months or more!”

The poor weaver looked ready to faint, but Zacharias had a strong hunch that it was not the order for cloth that made her anxious but the presence of the prince, who was still watching her as he ran a finger lightly around a tracery of dragon outlined in fine golden thread.