Prince of Dogs

“Now the guests of King Sykaeus fell silent, and each one turned to face Helen. In this way they waited intently for her to speak, to tell the tale of her sufferings and of the fall of Ilios.”

“Look,” whispered Matthias.

A young woman emerged from the hall. In the darkness her complexion had a strange shade, as if she had rubbed her skin with soot. She wore a gray cloak trimmed with scarlet and clasped with a badge marked with the likeness of an eagle.

“A King’s Eagle!” murmured Matthias, his tone breathless with admiration. “She’s a messenger for the king himself! So would I become, given the chance.” His tone turned sour. “If I wasn’t crippled now.”

Escaping from the crush, the Eagle pushed her way past the crowd and came to rest in the open a few steps from Mistress Gisela’s niece, who had also come outside.

“Ai, Lady,” swore the Eagle. “He’s mangling Virgilia again!”

“Who is that you speak of?” asked the niece, wiping a speck of dirt from her eye and turning to regard the other woman.

“The old poet. But I oughtn’t to complain of him, I suppose. It’s a miracle and a mercy he survived Gent.”

The niece eyed the young Eagle with regret and hesitation before, at last, she spoke. “You were there at the end.”

The Eagle got a still, sudden look on her face, like the Eika statues, like the niece when she had been handed to Wichman as his prize. “So I was, alas. The prince died bravely.”

“Of course,” replied the niece. She bit at her lip, then reached out to touch the delicate embroidery that trimmed the cloak.

“It’s excellent work,” said the Eagle. “Things have changed, here at Steleshame.”

“So they have.” The niece looked first one way, then the other and, seeing only the three children within earshot, leaned forward. “Ai, Lady. If you know of a way that I can attach myself to the army and march with them, out of here—” She broke off, leaving the rest of the question unasked.

The Eagle raised an eyebrow, astonished at this request. “Count Lavastine has allowed no camp followers, no stragglers, nothing that could impede the progress of the march or that might make him vulnerable when we come to meet the Eika on the field.”

“I can shoot a bow, wash clothes, cook for twenty men, repair torn cloth—”

“What is it?”

The blunt question shocked the niece into silence. Then tears flooded her eyes and coursed down her cheeks. “My aunt has given me to Lord Wichman, to do with as he wills,” she said on a hoarse whisper. “Eagle, I beg you, free me from this if you can!”

The Eagle stood as if she had been struck dumb, but in a moment she shook herself free of her paralysis.

“I will see you free of him before we leave on the morrow.”

The niece sagged forward, resting a hand on her abdomen. “Ai, Lord, I carry his child. What will become of it?”

“Fear not,” said the Eagle sternly. She set a hand over the other woman’s, her fingers clasped over the niece’s faded skirts. “I will speak with Lord Alain. If you wish, the child will be promised to the church. I am sure Lord Wichman’s mother will give a dowry for it, knowing it is of her son’s begetting.”

“It would be a great honor,” murmured the niece, but her shoulders remained bowed although she untangled her hand from that of the Eagle. “And a better future for the child than what I can give it or can expect for myself. Ai, Lady. What’s to become of me?”

“He made no gift to you?”

“A morning gift, do you mean. If we are not to be wed, then why would he gift me with anything?”

“A noble lord or lady might well gift a concubine with some mark of their favor, isn’t that so?”

“Their attentions are not mark enough?” The niece laughed harshly, bending as at a sudden pain in her side. “Nay, friend Eagle, I was the gift—to him. A nobleman of his kind would only gift his bride in that way, celebrating the consummation of the marriage. Not even the prince made such a gift to me—” Here she faltered and could not for a moment go on.

The Eagle shut her eyes.

“But kindness and a sweet temper are their own gifts,” finished the niece softly. Then Mistress Gisela’s voice could be heard, shouting her niece’s name from the crowded hall. “I thank you,” she added, her voice heavy with tears. She hastened back into the hall.

The Eagle leaned back against the wall, eyes still shut. Dusk had fallen and, seeing her half caught in that attitude, a shape pressed against the wall that was more shadow than woman, Anna could imagine the Eagle as much a part of the wall as the wood itself. Then, suddenly, the young woman stirred, came to life, and pushed away. She squared her shoulders under the cloak, took in a breath, and pressed back into the crowd, who parted to let her through into the packed hall.