King's Dragon

Page 151

“Hathui!”
But Hathui only smiled her proud marchlander’s smile and signed that Hanna should attend to the proceedings again.
Attend Hanna did. For some odd reason, Hathui’s shocking opinions made it easier for her to sort out one noble from the other. That thin glaze of intimidation had worn off, shorn away forever by Hathui’s blunt observations. She noticed the old counselor—the margrave Helmut Villam—yawning as Duchess Liutgard promised she would ride out at dawn the next day with her retinue. But it would still take some weeks before a levy could be raised, and longer still to march that force across the kingdom.
The very young man standing beside Villam—his son, that was it, though Hanna could not remember what the boy’s name was or if she had even heard it yet—fidgeted and looked very much as if he wished to be somewhere else. Hanna’s milk brother Ivar had that look sometimes when he was thinking about another prank to play or some expedition into the forest he wanted Hanna to come along for; Ivar was the sort of person who was either full of a manic energy or gloomily downcast.
How was Ivar faring now? Had he reached Quedlinhame Cloister yet, to begin his life as a monk? Hanna was a bit unclear on distances within the kingdom and where all the different cities and cloisters were. But one thing Hanna did know: Ivar would not take well to cloister walls. He was bound to get into some kind of mischief.
She sighed. Ai, Lady. There was nothing she could do for Ivar, not now. She had chosen Liath over Ivar and now, as if to punish her for her choice, the Lady had granted she be separated from both of them.
Duchess Liutgard finished her business with the king and moved back to make room for a noblewoman who appeared to be about the same age as Henry. This woman wore her years proudly. Her hair was coiled into long braids and pinned back; though it was gray now, Hanna could see it had once been a rich brown.
Hathui leaned to whisper in Hanna’s ear. “Judith, margrave of Olsatia and Austra.”
The margrave informed Henry that she would ride immediately to her estates in Austra and raise at least two hundred men to ride to Gent.
“And do not forget that my son Hugh is abbot at Firsebarg now. If you will send word to him, I know he can send a contingent to reinforce yours, Your Majesty.”
Hugh! Hanna did not breathe for a moment. She had almost forgotten Hugh, but staring at this imposing woman she was struck anew by memory of him. Judith was a woman of mature years, broad in girth and dignified of manner. She had delicate features not yet obscured by old age, and Hanna could see Hugh’s features there: the sharp planes of his handsome face, the bright, deep-set eyes, the haughty expression. But the margrave’s hair had obviously been dark, quite unlike Hugh’s light hair. Was it true that Hugh’s father had been a slave from Alba, whose men were renowned for their golden-haired beauty?
“Don’t be a fool, Hanna,” she whispered to herself. Instantly she wondered how Liath fared. Had they gotten into Gent safely? Was Liath well? Injured? Dead? Did Hugh think of Liath still? Of course he never thought of people like Hanna at all. What if he led a contingent of soldiers to Gent? Could Wolfhere protect Liath from Hugh when he did not understand what had taken place over that winter at Heart’s Rest?
Hathui’s fingers grazed her elbow, a reassuring touch, though surely Hathui couldn’t guess what she’d been thinking. And Hanna had no desire to betray such feelings to anyone else, not when she was herself ashamed of them, knowing how viciously Hugh had treated Liath. This was no time for such nonsense, as her mother would say. She shook herself and attended to the business at hand.
Later, after the audiences were over, Hathui was sent to the king’s physician and Hanna was sent to the guest house where the king’s children made their residence.
Hanna paused inside the door while the two guards posted there—by their gold tabards sewn with a black lion members of Henry’s Lion infantry—examined her curiously.
Hanna was more curious about the king’s children. Ekkehard was young, still in the schola, not yet old enough to be given a retinue of his own and sent out into the world as an adult. Right now he sat beside one of his sisters, who accompanied him on a lute. He had a beautiful voice.
“When the ships came down from the north
And he saw the gleam of gold in their belly,
Then he plunged into the waters
Though they were as cold as his mother’s heart,
Then plunged into the waters
And swam until he reached them.
With his sword he killed the watchmen
With his knife he killed the steersman