“Damn Sabella,” said Henry. “I was too lenient with her.”
“She is our sister, Henry,” said Biscop Constance. Though the rebuke was mild, only one of Henry’s powerful younger sisters would have dared utter it.
“Half sister,” muttered the king, but he had stopped pacing.
“She is safely confined under my authority in Autun, where I will soon return,” added Constance, who despite her youth had the grave authority of a much older woman. He grunted, acknowledging this truth.
They began to talk about the disposition of this latest siege, invested yesterday afternoon, and what route they would take when they at last marched east through northern Arconia back into Wendar.
The rain slackened and stopped. Liath wormed out from under the wagon, strapped on sword and quiver and draped her saddlebags over her shoulder, then went hunting for food. Rations had been scarce the past several weeks. Hard as it was to feed the king’s progress, it was more difficult still in these days of summer before the harvest came in. That they marched through lands hostile toward the king did not help matters any. Although the former kingdom of Varre was by right of succession under Henry’s rule, the number of recalcitrant nobles and reluctant church leaders in Varre amazed even Liath, who had long ago gotten used to being an outsider.
Yet despite the hardships, she was as content as she could be. She had food, most of the time, and such shelter as a wagon or tent awning afforded. She was free. For now, it was enough.
The camp sprawled in a ragged half circle around a wooden palisade, the outer ring of Lady Svanhilde’s fortress. The two siege engines and three ballistas sat just out of range of an arrow’s shot from the wall; hastily dug ditches protected their flanks, and a wall of mantelets shielded the men who guarded and worked the machines. On either side of the mantelets a picket of stakes stood, protecting the camp from a charge of cavalry. The first line of mud-streaked tents, some listing under the weight of rain puddles caught in canvas, stood somewhat back from these stakes, and the tents of nobles and king yet farther back, almost into the trees. The patchwork of tents and wagons left many gaps and wide stretches of open ground, but Henry had been careful to avoid trampling the ripening fields. He needed grain to feed his retinue.