“I think we need not fear, Sister,” added Villam, reading her silence with his usual sagacity. “She has grown steadier in the past months. And Father Hugh is wise enough to counsel her.”
“Is he?”
“Do you doubt him?” he asked, genuinely surprised. “He is much changed.”
“I suppose he is,” she agreed, but absently, for looking at Hugh where he stood in perfect humble attendance on his princess, she could not help but wonder—again—about the book.
Ai, Lady, the thought of the book nagged at her. It worried at her, this mouse’s hunger, day and night and even, that evening, while she sat in the war council held beneath the broad ceiling of the king’s pavilion. The small and ill-fitted hall at Steleshame had been deemed suitable for a householder but certainly not for a king and his retinue of nobles, so they had adjourned to the pavilion, now cramped with bodies all wedged together.
Sapientia sat on Henry’s left, Villam stood to his right. Around them stood those nobles important enough to demand or beg entrance to the nightly war council, chief among them young Duchess Liutgard of Fesse, who had joined up with them northeast of Kassel several weeks ago; Father Hugh; Villam’s daughter’s husband, Lord Gebhard of Weller Gass; the latest Count of Hesbaye, a stocky, placid man rumored to be a doughty fighter; Lady Ida of Vestrimark, who, as cousin to the late Countess Hildegard, was eager to personally avenge her cousin’s death as well as lay claim to her lands; and any number of sons or husbands or nephews of prominent landholding noblewomen who had sent their male kinfolk as their representatives.
Sapientia alone of Henry’s children now rode with the king. Theophanu had not yet returned from the convent of St. Valeria, nor had they heard any word from her—although she might well be looking for them in Wayland if she had missed the messenger sent to the convent with news of their march on Gent. Ekkehard had been left with the rest of the children in the schola at the palace of Weraushausen, in the keeping of the monks of Eben, some ten days’ ride southwest of Steleshame. The boy had begged to be allowed to attend the march; he was almost of age, after all, and the experience would in truth help temper him, but Henry had left him behind with the others—for safekeeping.
A servant brought wine and passed the cup among the restless nobles.
“We’re only four days behind Count Lavastine!” exclaimed Duchess Liutgard in her usual impetuous manner. “I say we march on tonight!”
“And arrive there completely exhausted?” asked Villam.
“Better than arriving there to find the count dead and his army cut to pieces! We can see well enough to march at night—the moon is nearly full!”
“But our road lies through the forest,” said Henry, thus ending the discussion. “I, too, see the need for haste, but not the need to be reckless. I have sent outriders ahead to alert Count Lavastine. We will follow at a steady march without depleting ourselves.”
Too restless to remain, with her mind wandering in such an irritable fashion, Rosvita rose and went outside. Just beyond the awning stood the king’s Eagle, Hathui, her head upturned to examine the heavens.
It was a drastic step, but Rosvita took it nevertheless: She glanced around to make sure they could speak without being overheard and then asked the woman what she knew of the matter.
“The book?” said the Eagle, obviously startled. “Indeed, I know of the book. Liath always carried it with her, and as far as I ever knew it belonged to her. I suppose it’s true she might have stolen it from Father Hugh.”
“But you don’t think she did?”
“Wolfhere didn’t believe she stole it, though she kept it hidden even from him. We all knew she had it, but Wolfhere never demanded she show it to us. He said once to me that it was her right to conceal it from the rest of us, as she wished.”
Wolfhere. It seemed to Rosvita that far too much of this mystery revolved around a simple Eagle—although by all accounts Wolfhere was by no means simple. “You were traveling through Heart’s Rest when you came upon Liath and Hanna? The king always wants for Eagles, it’s true, and I suppose Wolfhere might have found them likely candidates.”
“Nay, Sister. Wolfhere was looking for Liath. Both Manfred and I had been sent out by him to look for a girl answering to her description, but it was only when we joined up again that he told us he’d discovered her. That was when we rode to Heart’s Rest together.”
“Manfred?”
Rosvita could not read the expression on the Eagle’s face, but the marchlander made a shrugging motion with one shoulder, as at a nagging pain. “Our comrade. He was killed at Gent.”