by Kate Elliott
“He’s casting a deeper net,” said Sanglant. “Tallia is granddaughter of the Younger Arnulf. She also has claim to Varre twice over. Sabella seeks the throne so long denied her. If necessary, she’ll take it through her daughter’s body—and her daughter is now wed to Conrad.”
“Henry should have killed Sabella after the first revolt!” said Liutgard. “He was too lenient!”
“Wendish do not murder their kinfolk, not even in the pursuit of power,” said Sanglant mildly. “We are not Salians, Liutgard. Thank God.”
Her smile was tight. “I will not hesitate to kill Sabella—or any who plotted the downfall of my house. If Ermengard is harmed—!”
“We must pray she is not.” He turned to the waiting soldiers. “Is it best if we continue on this road, or is there a better vantage from which to spy out the land around Kassel?”
“We’ll guide you, Your Majesty. My lady duchess. Best if you see what they’ve done, meaning to starve us out.”
A trail branched off the main road. On this hunter’s path they pressed through woodland single file. They were tremendously vulnerable, strung out in such a line and with the open vistas of beech forest offering little concealment, but Sanglant trusted to his instincts, and his instincts told him that the old and cunning Sergeant Adalbert could be trusted. At length the sergeant asked king and duchess to dismount and led them via a footpath to a clearing that opened up on a steep hillside where rain and wind had caused a massive slide. Broken trees had tumbled to the base of the steep hill, caught there all in heaps and splintered piles like so much wrack. The hillside had a slick, unstable look beyond the last rank of standing trees.
“Careful, not down there, past this line. That’s where the ground gave way. But from here, if you hold fast to these trees as an anchor, you’ll be safe.”
“God have mercy.” Liutgard had a hand hooked around the bole of a young ash and her feet fixed in the dirt. At the base of the slide, trees of every age and size had smashed into each other, some splintering and the biggest ones crushing the smaller beneath.
“See here, now,” said the sergeant. “There is Kassel. Even from this distance, you can see what damage the autumn storm did her.”
The town of Kassel lay at the foot of the low, isolated hill—more a bulge in the landscape—on which the palace and tower had been erected. The town was laid out in a square with two avenues set perpendicular to each other, dividing the habitation into four even quarters. An old wall, reasonably kept up, surrounded it, but it was obvious from this height that the town had long ago been larger and more densely populated. There was room within those old walls for vegetable gardens and an orchard as well as some pasture for cows, and although in the main part of the town houses clustered one up against the next near the inner gate that admitted folk to the palace hill, along the outer spaces many houses boasted a big fenced-in garden. Old paths and house foundations marked abandoned homes. Middens grew where once folk had lived up against the town wall. There were signs—hard to discern from this distance—that many halls and houses had lost roofs or had their walls smashed by falling timber. The only sign of scaffolding and repair lay along the town wall and up on the tower rise, where a steeply-pitched roof gaped, half covered by canvas.
“Did the damage from the autumn storm spread so far?” Liutgard demanded. “Did they not plant the fields this spring?”
The fields beyond Kassel’s walls should have been green with early summer crops, but they had the reddish-brown stain of highland clay exposed to rain and wind.
“They did, my lady, rye and barley, as is customary. Even a few oats. But those men from Varre did trample the fields. See, there.” He waved a hand but he could have been waving at anything. “We heard that they confiscated the grain stores and even burned some, but that last I just can’t believe.”
Sanglant’s gaze had drifted back to the palace and tower on the hill. From this height, he could discern the footprints of more ancient structures where the newer buildings of the wooden palace and stone donjon overlapped the mark of ancient walls. Long ago a Dariyan outpost had stood here and before that a yet more ancient holding constructed with huge stones set in place, so the legend told, by daimones of the upper air. The Dariyans had worked with dressed stone blocks, so Heribert had instructed him, and it was easy to imagine a workforce of men hauling such manageable material up an incline. But massive stones could as easily have flown as been hauled, even on rollers; the story of the daimones building them with magic made as much sense as any other.
“Hoping for a miracle, some folk hung out the feast day streamers when first day of summer dawned,” said the old sergeant.
“I can’t make them out from here,” said Liutgard. She looked at Sanglant. “How do we win back my city?”
He surveyed the valley of Kassel. On the east the steep rise of hills made a natural barrier, which had been breached in Dariyan times with a massive ramp constructed of rubble and faced with stone. “There the Hellweg emerges from the forest,” he said, pointing to a scar in the forest cover where the ridge edge dipped lowest. “We’ll be easily visible as we descend the ramp. There is no other reasonable route down into the valley. So if we ride straight in, they will certainly know in advance that we are coming. Sergeant, how many men hold the palace?”
“Perhaps a hundred.”
“Even with the men we have, we’ll be hard put to take the tower in a frontal attack,” said Liutgard. “It’s built to withstand a siege.”
“Yet if we wait for the rest of the Varren army to come up, we’ll find ourselves caught between the enemy at the heart of the town and that which surrounds us from without. I do not like to think of setting a siege only to be besieged myself. Is there some other way into the tower, Sergeant? A river gate? A crawling space where a small group of men can creep in to surprise the defenders?”
“Nay, Your Majesty. Not even a servant’s gate.”
Liutgard smiled thinly. “There is no traitor’s gate, Cousin. My great-uncle Eberhard—the very one who gave up his claim to the throne in favor of the first Henry—had that tower built. He didn’t trust his enemies.”
“Or his allies, no doubt, who might wonder if he would take up arms against the new king. Well, then, we cannot sneak a contingent inside and open up the gates to let the rest of us through. Sergeant, have you any signals by which you communicate with your allies inside? Could any person be persuaded to open up the tower gates at a prearranged signal?”
The sergeant considered. “Folk in the town we can have some speech with, but there’s a heavy guard at the town gate. As for those in the tower, there’s none go in and out except the enemy.”
Sanglant frowned. “If only we had Eagle’s Sight, we could arrange our attack as we did at Walburg. Well, never mind it now. That avenue is closed to us. Can you smuggle in a score of men to assault the town gate and open it to us?”
“One or two at a time. It would take several days to manage it without being caught. But if we’re caught, the enemy will know aught is afoot.”
“And we haven’t several days. So be it. I’m of a mind to try a parley.”
“What of Ermengard?” asked the duchess. “I would gladly ransom myself for her.”
“They’ll not take you. If I hold Ermengard, I can sacrifice you and set your daughter in place with a regent. If they hold Ermengard, they hold your heir. I think they would rather have her than you, Liutgard. Still, it might be worth offering, to see what manner of men hold the tower.”
They returned to the troop and continued down the trail, returning at length to the main route of the Hellweg lower down. When at length the road broke free of the forest, they had a breathtaking view of the valley and the immense ramp down which they must ride. A sentry standing watch on the high tower walk would easily spot the banners of Fesse, Wendar, and the black dragon on the height. He nodded at Fulk, and the captain commanded the soldiers forward, down into the valley. The ramp was amazingly solid, although it
s slopes had, over the years, grown a carpet of low ground cover and fragile grasses.
“We’ll need to protect our flanks and rear so we aren’t surprised by Conrad’s army,” said the king, and once they reached the base, Sergeant Adalbert guided them south toward the banks of the river where a tangle of scrub brush and coppices of ash grew alongside the watercourse. They rode over a trampled field dusty from lack of rain. Red dirt coated the legs of the horses.
From the town, a horn sounded three times. Sanglant sent scouts back to get a closer look. Their route dipped into a hollow, and they turned and rode west in this cover until one of the men appeared on the rise, waving one arm frantically but not riding down to them. Sanglant spurred his mount forward, with Captain Fulk, Hathui, and a brace of soldiers behind him.
“What news?” he called.
But as soon as he surmounted the rise, he saw what the scout had seen. He turned, gesturing toward Liutgard, and Captain Fulk raised the horn to his lips and sounded the advance.
A party of about a hundred riders exploded from Kassel’s lower gate and galloped away across fields until they reached the west-wending road. They vanished, riding toward Varre. It was too far to catch them without the risk of falling into an ambush or meeting Conrad on the road where numbers would give the Varren army the advantage.
Liutgard rode up beside Sanglant. Her face was flushed and her expression fierce. “Kassel is ours!” she cried. “Taken without a fight!”
Sanglant frowned. “Hathui! Find Rufus—he’s with us, is he not? Send him—send two Eagles, by different routes, and Sergeant Adalbert will provide guides for each one, in case they must take to the forest trails. Give them each a spare horse. They’ll ride back to the main army. Tell them this: that we are settled into the tower of Kassel and will guard the town against imminent attack. They must proceed in haste, and with provisions sufficient for a siege, gathering anything they can along the route. It may also be that they will interrupt a siege laid in upon us by Conrad and Sabella. Go!”
“Your Majesty!” She rode away, calling for her Eagles.
“Fetch Lord Wichman,” he said to Benedict.
“What are you thinking, Your Majesty?” asked Fulk.
Liutgard stared at the city, straining like a hound against the leash, eager to ride in to her home.
“We’ll send Wichman and fifty riders north into the forest. It’s fairly open beech wood there, is it not?” The sergeant nodded. “Well enough. He’s accustomed to harassing the enemy. Let him wait in reserve. He can prowl the western road to ambush small parties and messengers. We’ll give him some signal if we need him to attack in force once Conrad and Sabella arrive.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Can we not go, Sanglant!” demanded Liutgard. “I want to see my daughter.”
Yet, after all, when they rode into a town ravaged by storm and parched by the enemy’s raid, with a grateful population swarming onto the streets to greet them with hosannas and hallelujas, they found the tower deserted and Lady Ermengard gone. The enemy had taken her. She was Conrad’s hostage now.
6
AT dusk, Captain Falco came to the chapel where, for most of the day, the skopos had led prayers to soothe the terrified schola. He accompanied her through the palace to the queen’s chambers. Folk labored like ants anxious to put in their stores of food. Barrels brought up out of the town were being rolled into the lady’s storehouse. Old men sharpened stakes in a courtyard, and a constant din floated up from the distant blacksmith’s quarter. A pair of guards kept watch beside the cisterns while a trio of youths spilled water from full buckets into the waiting reservoir and, empty buckets dangling, trudged away to get more.
“This way, Holy Mother,” said the captain.
In the outer chamber reserved for Adelheid’s use, Lady Lavinia was speaking to a pair of stewards. Seeing Antonia, she bent and kissed the hand offered to her.
“Forgive me, Holy Mother,” she said. “I must depart in haste. Certain matters have come up, as we prepare for this siege. They could attack at any moment.”
“Is there news?” Antonia asked her. “Did the man we sent to offer a parley, did he return?”
Without answering, Lavinia nodded toward the closed doors that, when open, offered passage into the queen’s innermost chamber. She excused herself again and hurried away. In the corner, Mathilda sat alone on a couch clutching a doll. She had her eyes closed, although she was not asleep. Her lips moved as she murmured under her breath, but Antonia could not hear her words.
Almost Antonia went to her, to soothe her and offer a prayer to strengthen her. Captain Falco opened the door and stood aside to allow her to enter. He closed the door behind her. without following her inside.
In the inner chamber, Antonia found herself alone with Adelheid and Alexandros. A barred window looked over a garden of cypress hedges and sleepy lavender. Alexandros stood in profile, staring into the deepening twilight as Adelheid paced. He seemed preoccupied; indeed, he did not even acknowledge Antonia’s entrance.
“You are come, Holy Mother,” the queen said, her voice dull.
“Has the messenger returned?” Antonia asked. “What news of our offer for parley?”
Adelheid glanced at Alexandros, but his gaze did not shift from whatever he was staring at out in that garden. A faint whiff of burning incense caught at her before trailing away, lost in a sharper scent of anxiety and fear.
“Refused,” she said in a low voice. “They sent the man back with an arrow in his heart, dumped him outside our gates. They will not negotiate.”
“They are shrewd, these Ashioi.” Alexandros spoke without looking toward either woman. He mused in the manner of a man speaking to himself, hoping that a passing angel might overhear him and stop to give him advice. “They know the woods and the land. I believe that the messengers we sent out at dawn may not have made it past their guard. We cannot expect relief to come quickly, if at all.”
“They haven’t the strength to sustain an attack on us, surely,” said Antonia. “I saw no siege engines. We are well set up with provisions and water.”
“It remains in our interest to end this with parley, not blows.” His fingers were hooked into his belt, perfectly still, all of him still.
Only Adelheid paced, and her restlessness began to irritate Antonia, who walked over to the side table and picked up an apple, the last one resting in a polished bowl. The fruit was withered, out of last harvest’s store, but when she bit into it, the flavor remained sweet.
“Their demands are unconscionable in the eyes of God. What do you suggest, Alexandros? Since they will not negotiate?”
Five paces brought him to the side table, next to her. She had forgotten how fast a determined man moved. She did not like that bulky presence next to her, so she slid around the corner of the narrow table and shielded herself with her back to the wall.
“It is only a matter of time,” he said, following her.
His right hand snapped forward, and his fingers closed around her throat. “Understand this, Holy Mother. I trust swords, and I have good reason not to trust the women who bind sorcery. I will not allow my life to hang from this thread of your goodwill. You may take my life with any change of the wind.”
His fingers tightened. She released the apple, and heard its soft flesh splatter on the floor. With her left hand she grasped his forearm and pushed her nails into his flesh, but his grip did not waver. With her right, she groped for her eating knife and wiggled it out of its sheath, and struck for his side.
He twisted, caught her hand, and bent it back until the bones cracked in her wrist. The knife fell, ringing like a high bell where it hit cold floor. The pain blinded her, white hot and as sharp as steel, and at first she could not react, but she could hear with uncanny keenness as Adelheid began to murmur a prayer under her breath.
“God, make us strong.
God, be a swift sword.
Let justice fall heavily upon the wicked.”
> He let her wrist fall and she heard the hiss of steel leaving its scabbard. Her sight flashed back. His long hunting dagger poised above her. Lamplight burnished its dark blade.
“In God’s name, I command you—!” she gasped. “I am Holy Mother. This is—!”
“This is prudence,” he remarked.
The dagger fell. It punctured the flesh between her breasts and rasped along bone until the point scraped against the stone wall behind her. Blood spilled along her skin. So much pain! She tried to tighten her grip on his arm, but it was too much effort. She was so weary, and wished only to lie down.
Adelheid’s pretty voice caressed her with prayers.
“We will not turn away from You.
Grant us Your help. Preserve our life.”
How had Alexandros corrupted her?
In the same manner the other men had, first Henry, then Hugh, and now this one-eyed, goat-footed, bristly monstrosity who called himself a lord although he was no more than a peasant’s brat who had pulled himself to the top of a heap of dead men.
Brave words and brilliant eyes cozen a weak-willed woman. Adelheid had always been susceptible!
A pounding at the door shattered the prayer into a thousand shards. A voice shouted, loud enough to be heard through the thick door. “Your Majesty! My lord general! They attack!”
“Adelheid,” he said.
“Oh, God,” the queen said.
“She might have turned on us at any time.”
“She is more powerful than we are. This is the only way to protect ourselves. There is much in the world we do not like that we must suffer because it is the only way to achieve the ends we seek.”
Blood warmed Antonia. Her hearing remained keen and focused. These were Hugh’s words, pouring from Adelheid’s treacherous mouth. She tried to speak, to chastise the queen, but nothing came out.
“We give them her body,” agreed Alexandros, “and they leave.”
Antonia still had eyes. Adelheid glided away toward the door, but too quickly her form receded into a darkening distance, out of sight although she was almost close enough to spit on.