Child of Flame (Page 315)

“Tell me truly, Wolfhere, is this Eagle’s sight illusion or real?”

“Alas, my lord prince, it has never lied to me in all my days.”

“Then your sight is more truthful than your tongue, Eagle. Anne made skopos with my father’s blessing!” He glanced toward Bayan. The Ungrian prince, as jovial as ever, was accepting the congratulations of various nobles from among Sapientia’s train. No one begrudged him his victory; he had proved himself worthy, even if he was a foreigner. “Pray to God, Heribert,” he looked around and saw Zacharias, “and you, too, Zacharias, no matter what you believe now. Pray to God to grant me patience to endure what I must for the sake of the kingdom, and the wits to learn intrigue.” He laughed harshly, drawing his little retinue away from the crowd, seeking his daughter where she splashed merrily in the stream, pretending to be a bird rising from the water. “Bloodheart taught me well, although he never meant to do me any favors. If his dogs couldn’t tear out my throat in Gent, then these dogs surely will not do so now. Ai, God, to think that my father offered me the kingdom and I turned it down!”

“Your Highness!” said Wolfhere, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“No matter.” Sanglant lengthened his stride, moving out through the grass away from the rest of them as he called to his daughter. He wore a leather cord around his neck and now, restless, he pulled it out to cup his hand over a round leaf of silver engraved with various signs. “My father would not have named Anne as skopos and fallen victim to her lies if I had been at his side, advising him. She would never have gained such influence if it had been me who had ridden to Aosta with Adelheid as my queen.”

He stopped dead as his daughter crowed in triumph, having escaped Thiemo’s efforts to catch her, and turned on Wolfhere. “Or you could be telling Anne everything that you’ve learned while riding with me. You could be hiding from me what she tells you.”

“So I could, Your Highness. And I could kill your daughter while she sleeps. Lord Thiemo is a good boy, but not my match.”

“The old wolf is wise and subtle. Tell me, Wolfhere, how does one learn intrigue?”

“What sort of intrigue do you wish to learn?”

“The intrigue of the king’s court. It’s said that you were my grandfather Arnulf’s favorite. You, a common-born man. Folk must have hated you because he listened to you above all others.”

“So they did. And your father most of all.”

“Nay, truly? I thought he hated you because you tried to drown me.”

“Well, that didn’t help. But Henry hated me long before that. He envied me my place at King Arnulf’s side. Young men are prone to jealousies, my lord prince, and strange fancies. Yet Arnulf always knew Henry’s worth. There was never any doubt in his mind which of his children had been born with the luck of the king.”

“What of Henry’s children?” Sanglant glanced back toward the crowd of nobles gathered to celebrate Bayan’s victory. Sapientia stood beside her husband, bright and happy, handsome and shining, yet beside the Ungrian prince she looked as light as a feather, ready to float away at the least puff of wind. She hadn’t any weight.

“Ah.” Wolfhere smiled, baring his teeth as a wolf might when it snarls. “What of Henry’s children? Don’t forget that he has another child now, the infant Mathilda, born to Adelheid. A strong, healthy girl, though she is still a suckling babe.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“That Henry’s children by Sophia aren’t the only ones who can inherit his throne, Your Highness. He has two others. The newborn Mathilda. And you.”

Sanglant glared at Wolfhere until the old Eagle fidgeted, looking curiously nervous in the face of the prince’s obvious anger and grief. “Find my wife, Eagle. Why has your Eagle’s sight failed you? Has she hidden herself from you? Where has she gone?”

Wolfhere had no answer for him.

“I pray you, my lord prince,” said Heribert quietly, “it is like poison to the skin to handle it too much. Nor should you display it openly.”

Sanglant started, glanced at the silver medallion in his hand, and slipped it back under his tunic.

Only then, with the three men standing close together, did Zacharias realized that all three—prince, cleric, and Eagle—wore similar amulets concealed under their clothing, a protection against sorcery.

2

HOW long ago it seemed that she had had the leisure to sit in the scriptorium and work uninterrupted on her History of the Wendish People! It had been so long that the blessed Queen Matilda, of glorious memory, to whom the work was dedicated, had died without ever seeing a finished work. These days, Rosvita wondered if there ever would be a finished work.