She nodded in return but did not speak. At this moment, she looked incapable of speech.
“Is there no one who comes forward with you to parley?” Villam continued. “Duke Rodulf does not grace us with his presence.”
“I think you know his opinions well enough.”
“It is true,” said Villam, not quite hiding a smile, “that Rodulf is refreshingly frank. But I see other banners here which surprise me. Count Lavastine is known to me, and to the king, and yet he does not come forward with you to speak his mind.”
Barely, Antonia’s lips quirked. She gestured toward the hounds. Villam looked that way. His reaction was twofold, and rather strange. At first he looked annoyed. Antonia was suggesting, of course, that Lavastine was either a dog running at Sabella’s heels or else that the count himself meant to insult the king by sending the two hounds as his representatives. But then Villam registered Alain. He looked at the boy, studied him for one awkward moment; something in his face betrayed him, and he had to look away to hide it—a grief he could not share. Oddly, Duchess Liutgard touched him on the elbow, the way one steadies a man who has stumbled.
“I would have speech,” continued Villam after a moment, “with Sabella.”
“Of course,” said Antonia smoothly, “any words which you speak here will reach her. I am merely the vessel through which they travel. Indeed, Sabella has words for her brother as well.”
“No doubt,” said Villam drily. “But I fear we speak of deeds, not words, now. Why has Sabella marched with this army out of Arconia, the territory she administers for her husband Berengar?”
The mule shifted, and Alain tightened his grip on the reins to still it. Antonia opened one hand and gestured eloquently toward Henry’s red silk banner. “She is grieved by her brother’s usurpation of her rightful place as queen of Wendar.”
Villam shook his head. His eyes were dark and heavy, as if he had recently endured many sleepless nights. “That dispute was settled eight years ago. Sabella vowed on your ring, Biscop Antonia, to hold no more grievance against King Henry and to retire to her own holdings and be a faithful supporter of his rule. Has she broken that vow?”
“She swore that vow under duress, as you yourself witnessed. Only those who have sworn themselves to wear martyr’s garments are expected to choose death over life, no matter what the charge. So does Our Lady forgive us for our attachment to life, as long as our hearts remain pure and our bearing dignified. As long as we do not forsake our duty to God.”
“Is that how you interpret the scripture?” asked Liutgard sharply, suddenly coming to life.
“I do not intend,” replied Antonia with a patient smile, “to debate scripture here, my lady.” She turned back to Villam. He was a tall, broad man, and though she still sat on her mule, she did not loom over him as she would have a smaller man or woman.
“Sabella is a reasonable woman. Henry may keep his title as duke of Saony, giving the county of Attomar to his sister Rotrudis. Sabella will take the crown and throne of Wendar, and Varre will go to Tallia. She will show her favor toward Henry by allowing his young son Ekkehard to marry Tallia and become king of Varre as Tallia’s consort.”
Villam was too old and wily—and too burdened by that other, nameless grief—to get angry. “I would laugh if only the suggestion were not so offensive. As well as ridiculous. To Sabella, King Henry sends these words: She may keep her dukedom if she turns and quits the field now.”
“It is not her dukedom to quit, Villam. Berengar is Duke of Arconia.”
Villam grunted, finally sounding irritated. “Your Grace, please do not treat me as if I were a fool. Berengar is a fine and noble man, I am sure, but he does not—shall we say—carry a full kettle of wits with him. Sabella rules that dukedom as both man and woman.” Then he quickly nodded toward Tallia, who had flushed a bright pink and was staring so hard at her hands that first Alain, and then Heribert, and then the two silent Eagles, and finally the other three—who knew better—also looked at the girl’s hands to see if something was growing there. “Begging your pardon, Lady Tallia.”
She murmured something indistinguishable, but its tone sounded like apology.
Antonia spoke. “If we cannot agree, Lord Villam, there is no point in discussion, is there?”
“You wish to fight?” He looked genuinely puzzled. As well he might: Henry’s force was clearly larger and, more importantly, had more mounted soldiers. Their weight and overbearing force alone assured Henry victory.
