Prince of Dogs

“Then it’s well you’ll remain behind with the train,” said the Eagle, already looking ahead, trying to sight the reserve that marched behind the halted wagons. “If by some evil chance the Eika escape our net and swing wide to attack those of you left behind the main army, the infant Hippolyte will need stout defenders. I must go, Sister.” She nodded to Rosvita and rode on.

All was in an uproar as drivers, servants, and guard talked at once. But eventually the line got going again. Soon the Eagle came thundering back toward the head of the line. After her rode Villam and the cavalry reserve. He paused as he came alongside Rosvita, and once again her servant stilled her mule so that she could speak with the margrave.

“My infantry, about one hundred men, I leave behind to guard you. Pull your wagons into a circle if you haven’t reached Gent by dusk. Then move on in the morning. Under no account keep traveling in disorder. Princess Hippolyte will be placed under your care.”

“Go with God, Lord Villam,” said Rosvita, making the sign of the Unities to bless him and his soldiers. “May we see victory before the sun sets.”

“May we get there before the sun sets,” muttered Villam. He signed to his captain who called out the order to advance. Soon Villam and his cavalry, too, vanished into the forest ahead as the wagons trundled on. The reserve infantry jogged up and their captain deployed them around the wagon train much as Rosvita imagined stock-drovers might surround a large herd of cattle in the wild lands, protecting them from wolves.

Soon the solitude grew eerie and disturbing. In two days of travel beyond Steleshame, she had stopped hearing the distant sounds of the host ahead and the reserve behind. Now, when she could no longer hear the distant sounds of their passage before and behind, she noticed their lack.

“Ho!” A shout carried from the forward scouts. “Party ahead!”

An anxious group of servants waited for them alongside the track. By this means Rosvita could see how far ahead Duchess Liutgard and Princess Sapientia had pushed their groups even in the course of the regular march. The men and women clustered here greeted them with relief and explained that they consisted of those noncombatants who had for one reason or another ridden ahead with the main army. Most importantly, they included Sapientia’s personal servants with her traveling pavilion and her baby, the precious child whose existence conferred on Sapientia the right to rule after Henry.

Father Hugh was not among them.

Rosvita found one of his servingmen at once, a monk called Brother Simplicus who had come with him from Firsebarg Abbey. He leaned against a tree a bit away from the others and combed a hand nervously through his thinning hair. A beautifully carved chest rested on the ground at his feet with a stone wedged under one corner so he could grip one side easily when it came time to pick it up.

“Brother,” she called, indicating that he should come over to her. He started, surprised at her notice, and hefted the chest. It took some effort for him to lumber over to her; not a big man, he had also the rabbity eyes of a man made nervous by small worries.

“Where is Father Hugh?” she asked kindly.

With a grunt he set down the chest again, grimacing as he tipped it up on one foot. “He rode out with the army.” His nose was running. He glanced around, then wiped it on his sleeve and twitched nervously under her gaze. “I begged him not to, good Sister. I am well aware that a man of the church ought to walk in peace and …” Here he faltered, evidently coming to the conclusion that she did not mean to rebuke him for his failure to keep his noble superior from doing what the man had clearly already determined to do. “B-but he armed himself in mail and helm and with sword strapped over his back rode out beside the princess.”

“No doubt Father Hugh has training at arms,” she said, meaning to comfort him. With some difficulty she kept her gaze off the chest. “Even in battle his presence may provide ballast for the princess, should she need counsel. Many a good churchman or woman has fought when desperate need arose.” But her thoughts were not on battle, not right now. For some odd reason Sister Amabilia’s comment, made months ago, popped into her head: “A bird’s feathers may change in color, but it’s the same duck inside!”

And she smiled. “Brother Simplicus, bide with us as we travel. Set your chest in the wagon so that you may walk more lightly. It looks to be a heavy burden.”

Ah, he was tempted. She recognized the look. He glanced at the chest and winced as it shifted more heavily onto his foot, the other end pressing deeply into the loamy ground. First he ran a hand through his thin hair, then scratched at his shaven chin nervously as he swept the woods with a wary gaze, and finally toyed with the two thin gold chains at his neck.