General Lord Alexandros lifted two fingers, and the third man opened a jeweled box and displayed its contents to Antonia.
On a bed of finest gray silk lay the complete bones of a hand, fastened with gold wire.
“A song, to entertain,” he said in Dariyan, indicating the cunning songbird with a gesture of his hand. His accent was coarse, but Antonia expected no fine words out of a lying Arethousan. “Pearls, of beauty and richness. For the Holy Mother of your people,” he finished, pointing at the skeletal hand, “a precious relic.”
“A relic?” Antonia examined the bones. They had no shine to them, nothing to indicate their special holiness. “Any man may sell a finger bone and say it is the relic of a holy saint.”
He shrugged, and it angered Antonia to see that her comment amused him. “So I am thinking. Perhaps it is only the bone of a cow herder. But it come from the most holy sanctuary of the Patriarch of the True Church. This is the hand of the St. Johanna the Messenger, a holy discipla of the blessed Daisan. Still, if you think it a fake, I will take it away.”
Adelheid’s eyes widened. She still held the pearls, but her gaze fixed on the hand. “A precious relic, indeed!” she breathed. “How came you to have it, General? Why bring it to us?”
He gestured. His four attendants touched their heads to the floor in the servile eastern style, backed away, and knelt at the foot of the dais.
“Your Majesty,” he said. “Holy Mother. I have no fine words. I am only a soldier. I speak with plain words, if you please.”
Antonia began to reply, knowing him impertinent and proud, but Adelheid forestalled her. The young empress was of that type of woman who is susceptible to the appearance of physical strength in a man, thinking that strong arms are preferable to strong faith and a righteous heart.
“Go on, General. I am listening.”
When he met Antonia’s gaze, it was clear he knew she did not approve of him. He judged her, as a man sizes up his opponent before opening battle, and made his attack.
“I ride a long road to come to Aosta. Many bad things I see. There is wasteland, a land of smoking rock. There is drought, dry land, sickness. There is empty land, all the people run away. There is starving. Above, we see no birds but one time a great beast which has brightness like gold. We are attacked three times by beasts, these who have the form of men but the faces of animals. They are wearing armor which I see in the ancient paintings in the halls of Arethousa. The Cursed Ones are returned to Earth. Now they stalk us.”
“These are evil tidings,” agreed Adelheid. “Yet much of this we know ourselves, here in Aosta.”
“This we suffer together.” He nodded.
“What do you want?” demanded Antonia. “You are a heretic, apostate, an Arethousan who lies as easily as breathes and who, like the fox, will steal eggs from a mother’s nest to feed your own kits.”
Adelheid’s hands clenched on the pearls as she rounded on Antonia. “I pray you! Holy Mother, let him speak. I sent envoys to inquire about an alliance. I did not expect the lord general himself to answer my call,”
“What lordship has he?” Antonia inquired sweetly. “Your proud lineage is known to all, Your Majesty. I am a daughter of the royal house of Karrone. What is he?”
He flexed his arms a little. By the breadth and thickness of his hands, one could read his lineage: a man of the sword, grown with the sword, risen by the sword, a general who had fought his entire life. “I married a noble wife,” he said. “Born into the house of Theophanes Dasenia. She is cousin of the last emperor. Also, she is cousin two times removed to the Princess Sophia who marries your King Henry in early days. A clever, industrious woman, proud, a giver of alms. Noble in all ways.”
His breath caught. The assembly was quiet, hearing in his voice a grief that made Antonia, for a moment, feel an inconvenient thread of sympathy wrap her heart. Quickly severed.
“Dead, now.” He was pale. Adelheid, too, had lost her color, and yet in all ways her looks had changed utterly since the general had entered the hall. His interest made her seem younger.
He looked at the empress, but what he saw Antonia could not read in his expression. “Arethousa is fallen, Your Majesty. The city is destroyed. Its people are exiles, those who live. Many more are dead. Even the great church is ruins.”
Adelheid nodded, as if this did not surprise her. Why should it? She had seen Darre.
“What of the young emperor, General Lord Alexandros?” Antonia asked. “Does Lord Niko live?”
He nodded, but his gaze remained fixed on the queen as on the spear of his enemy, which might pierce him at any unguarded moment. “The emperor lives under the skirt of his aunt, Lady Eudokia. She and I were allies once.”
