“I’ve been here for a year or more—three years, now that I think on it. We’ve made some expeditions to the north coast and west of here to drive out bandits and rebels. And you?” He recalled himself, and offered a more respectful bow. “An Eagle no longer, my lady. I pray you, forgive my boldness.”
“There is nothing to forgive. I would rather be treated as your comrade of old than—this other thing. You marched east, did you not? With Prince Bayan and Princess Sapientia? That happened after we parted ways.”
He whistled. “A long road that was. You know the route as well as I after we put down the rebellion in Varre.”
They chatted a little about that time, old comrades recounting shared adventures: Lady Svanhilde and her reckless son, Charles; the battle at Gent and the death of the Eika chieftain Bloodheart.
“We traveled on progress after that. Down to Thersa and afterward to Werlida.” He looked a little embarrassed. “You’ll recall that, I suppose.”
“I do. And after that, where did you go? You’ve had a long, difficult journey, I think. In the king’s service.”
“That we have, and lost half my men, alas. It was quiet for a while, in Varre. We went to Autun and saw the holy chapel where the Emperor Taillefer sleeps. Now that was a fine sight!” He grinned, but an instant later he frowned. “After that, indeed. We were sent east with Princess Sapientia and Prince Bayan. He was a good man, Prince Bayan. A good commander. I suppose we reached too far. Wendish folk ought not to walk beyond the marchlands.”
He went on for a while about the grassy eastern reaches, about a battle at a place he called “Queen’s Grave” on account of an old burial mound with a ruined stone crown at its height. Their retreat, it seemed, had succeeded only on account of Prince Bayan’s steady nerves and canny tactics. There had been trouble in Handelburg.
“And through no fault of her own, I will tell you,” he said harshly, “that Eagle, Hanna, was sent out to her death. For that I blame …” He faltered, looked right at Lady Theucinda, and with some effort made an obvious decision to be prudent rather than bold.
“She didn’t die,” said Liath, suddenly cold.
“Nay, so we discovered later. Her tale is no good one, though. We met up with Prince Sanglant—His Majesty, that is—at Machteburg. There we recovered a few of our men, a handful, nothing more. They’d turned heretic. Yet I tell you, I think in a time as troubled as now it should not matter if a man is a heretic but whether he can fight.”
Theucinda looked at him and seemed about to say something. But she did not.
“You’ll hear no argument from me,” said Liath, “but the church mothers will say otherwise.”