Each day on the king’s progress brought new fascinations for Hanna. Heralds rode ahead to shout the news of the king’s adventus—his arrival at the next stopping place. A levy of soldiers and servants forged ahead of the main party to clear the road of snow and debris. At the forefront of the main procession rode the king and his noble companions in full glory. After them came the swelling ranks of an army, growing with each day as nobles joined Henry or sent soldiers in their place. The horde of servants followed them, and farther back, wagons rolled, lumbering and jolting over the rutted road, skidding on ice, getting stuck in drifts. A century of Lions marched at the rear.
But of course there were always stragglers, beggars trailing behind, women and men hoping to hire themselves out as laborers. Peddlers, prostitutes, homeless servants, persons with grievances to bring before the king, and anonymous young men hoping to find employment or loot in the aftermath of battle, all of these followed in the track of the king’s progress, some joining as others dropped out.
“Is it always like this?” Hanna asked Hathui. Fifteen days ago they had left Echstatt. Now she and the other Eagle pulled up their horses on a rise that looked down to the north over the episcopal city of Wertburg and down to the south over the road that wound away through the stubble of fields and lines of hedges before it lost itself in forest. Riding at the front, they had a good view of the king’s train, a long and colorful procession strung across the landscape below. The line of stragglers still emerged from forest. Below them, the king ascended the hill. The hugely pregnant Sapientia rode beside him, mounted on a gentle mare, with Helmut Villam, Sister Rosvita, and Father Hugh in close attendance. At the Wertburg city gates, a large party led by the biscop and the local count had already begun its own procession out to meet the king.
“We’ll be in Mainni by the thaw,” said Hathui. “There are several royal palaces where we will sit out the floods. It’s hard work traveling in the spring. How do you fare, Hanna?”
Hanna considered the question seriously; she knew very well what Hathui was asking. “I fare well enough. There’s nothing wrong with Princess Sapientia that wise companions and fields of her own to plow won’t cure, as my mother used to say.”
“Are you her champion now?”
“It’s true she’s rash and proud and thoughtless, but from what I hear she lived for a long time in the shadow of her brother, Prince Sanglant—”
“True enough,” observed Hathui.
“—and if she has many companions now, I fear it’s mostly because they expect King Henry to name her as Heir—not for herself. So it’s no wonder she’s—well, as my mother would say, if you bring up a child on table scraps, then it will surely gorge to sickness when you finally sit it down to a feast.”
“A wise woman, your mother,” said Hathui with a grim smile. “But I didn’t mean to inquire about the princess. What of Father Hugh?”
“I am of no concern to him,” Hanna said at last, but she knew she was blushing. “He pays no attention to me.” Why, then, knowing what she did about him, did she sometimes still wish he did?
“If I did not have Liath’s testimony, it would be hard for me to believe the things she has accused him of.”
“Perhaps he’s changed.”
Hathui shot her a sharp glance. “Do you think so?”
“He’s so … kind and gentle, so soft-spoken. So clever and industrious. You’ve seen him yourself, laying hands on the sick, giving out alms to the poor. He attends Princess Sapientia faithfully and advises her with care.”
“As well he might!”
Hanna had to grin. “If it’s a child of his own begetting, then it’s no wonder he attends her so closely. But he doesn’t seem … the same person as he was in Heart’s Rest.”
“He’s with his own people now.”
“That’s true enough. We were only common folk in Heart’s Rest, far beneath his notice.”
“Except for Liath.”
“Except for Liath,” Hanna echoed.
“Did you ever think she might be lying?” asked Hathui casually. Ahead, the biscop’s procession had unfurled banners and the bright standards representing the city and the local count. Behind, riders in the king’s procession began to sing.
Clouds covered the heavens this day, and it was cold, yet surely no soul could be gloomy observing such pageantry. Hanna turned her face into the breeze and stared, the lick of the wind on her lips. Even in gloves her hands were cold, but she would have been no other place in the world than this one as the king and his party ascended the hill, reaching the crest behind them. Their song carried fitfully on the breeze.