“What is the nature of a griffin’s power?” The empress sat with feet tucked up under her in a most unbefitting informality; one blue silk slipper peeped out from beneath the gold drapery of her robe. She leaned forward now, lips parted, eyes wide, as innocent as a child and most likely just as stupid.
“They have the power to banish the galla. It is said griffin feathers can cut through the bonds of magic.”
“Did the galla not throw confusion into his army?”
“A score of men may have died, more or less. I viewed the attack from a safe distance. We have not stopped him.”
“But we have slowed him down.”
The queen’s prettiness had never irritated Antonia more than at this moment. How soft those pink lips looked! How pale and inviting were those lovely eyes! Adelheid had not sullied her hands with blood, since the criminals she had handed over to Antonia were marked for execution in any case. But Adelheid had the knack of getting others to do her dirty work for her so that her hands remained lily white. She had scribes to write her missives; loyal guardsmen to wield swords in her defense; stewards to bring her food and drink and a host of fawning courtiers like that old fool Burchard to sing her praises. Beauty was a perilous gift, so often misused. Even as a girl Antonia had scorned those who with their ephemeral beauty got their way even when it was wrong for them to have done so. She had never possessed winsomeness. She had studied righteousness and the game of power to achieve her ends, molding herself into God’s instrument.
That was a better kind of sword, one whose reach was infinite and whose span was eternal.
“We cannot stop him,” said Antonia. “Have you not considered what the failure of this attack means? The galla were our most powerful weapon.”
“Think you so, Sister Venia? I would have thought that surprise was our most powerful weapon.”
“The galla surprised him, yet he overcame them.”
Adelheid sighed, shifting her feet. Her hair was uncovered as relief from the heat, and her thick black hair braided in as simple a fashion as any farm girl. “I hope you do not despair. I do not.”
Antonia knew better than to say what she thought. She had her own plans, and it would not do to anger the empress. “What do you mean to do, Your Majesty?”
“I mean to send you back to my daughters. You will reside at Tivura until I call for them. I believe you can protect them with your galla, if need be. You have proved your worth. I know you will do what you must to protect them. I hope you do not fear the journey back to Darre. There may be dangers now that Prince Sanglant’s army descends into our land.”
Burchard was nodding in time to the queen’s recital. Antonia had once had more patience for this kind of nonsense, and it was difficult to endure it now, but even so she knew how to smile to gain another’s confidence and goodwill. Adelheid needed her, and for now she needed Adelheid. “I am well armed, just as Prince Sanglant is, Your Majesty. And your plans?”
“We will march east through Ivria along the coast.”
“Away from Darre?”
“Prince Sanglant will not march on Darre if we challenge him elsewhere. Darre is not the heart of Aosta. I am. He must capture me to have a hope of capturing the empire.”
“Rumor speaks that it is his father he seeks, not you, Your Majesty.”
“No man refuses a crown if it is dangled before him.” Antonia frowned. “Do you want Prince Sanglant, Your Majesty? Is this a feint to capture him?”
Burchard snorted. “The queen is loyal to her husband!”
Adelheid laughed and reached out to pat Burchard’s trembling hands. That sweet laughter had captivated a court, a king, and an empire, but it did not fool Antonia. “Hush, Burchard. My loyalty to Henry is not in question.” She settled back and turned her bright gaze on Antonia. “Of course it is a feint to trap him, Sister. What else would it be? Eagles fly swiftly. I am not the only one who received news from a messenger ten days ago speaking of Sanglant’s approach over the Brinne Pass.”
4
ADELHEID’S army retreated in good order a half day’s ride out in front of them through the worst heat Sanglant had ever suffered and at last took shelter within the walls of the seaport town of Estriana while his army laid in a siege. Few Wendish towns boasted strong stone walls; most had wooden palisades and a stone keep. These were ancient walls erected in the days of the old Dariyan Empire. The town stood on an outcrop that thrust into a shallow bay with waters flat and glassy beyond and the belt of surrounding fields shorn of forage. Her forces had worked efficiently, leaving nothing more than dusty stubble, plucked vines, and a number of gnarled olive trees. To the east the ground rose into rugged hill country and west the wooded coastal plain stretched into a haze of heat and dust. To the north lay hills as well, and where a tongue of a ridgeline thrust out onto the narrow coastal flat a river spilled down onto low land and thence out to the bay, joined halfway by a smaller stream winding in from the eastern hills. Because this bluff lay less than half a league from the town walls, they used it to anchor their siege works to ensure access to water.