“I think we need not fear, Sister,” added Villam, reading her silence with his usual sagacity. “She has grown steadier in the past months. And Father Hugh is wise enough to counsel her.”
“Is he?”
“Do you doubt him?” he asked, genuinely surprised. “He is much changed.”
“I suppose he is,” she agreed, but absently, for looking at Hugh where he stood in perfect humble attendance on his princess, she could not help but wonder—again—about the book.
Ai, Lady, the thought of the book nagged at her. It worried at her, this mouse’s hunger, day and night and even, that evening, while she sat in the war council held beneath the broad ceiling of the king’s pavilion. The small and ill-fitted hall at Steleshame had been deemed suitable for a householder but certainly not for a king and his retinue of nobles, so they had adjourned to the pavilion, now cramped with bodies all wedged together.
Sapientia sat on Henry’s left, Villam stood to his right. Around them stood those nobles important enough to demand or beg entrance to the nightly war council, chief among them young Duchess Liutgard of Fesse, who had joined up with them northeast of Kassel several weeks ago; Father Hugh; Villam’s daughter’s husband, Lord Gebhard of Weller Gass; the latest Count of Hesbaye, a stocky, placid man rumored to be a doughty fighter; Lady Ida of Vestrimark, who, as cousin to the late Countess Hildegard, was eager to personally avenge her cousin’s death as well as lay claim to her lands; and any number of sons or husbands or nephews of prominent landholding noblewomen who had sent their male kinfolk as their representatives.
Sapientia alone of Henry’s children now rode with the king. Theophanu had not yet returned from the convent of St. Valeria, nor had they heard any word from her—although she might well be looking for them in Wayland if she had missed the messenger sent to the convent with news of their march on Gent. Ekkehard had been left with the rest of the children in the schola at the palace of Weraushausen, in the keeping of the monks of Eben, some ten days’ ride southwest of Steleshame. The boy had begged to be allowed to attend the march; he was almost of age, after all, and the experience would in truth help temper him, but Henry had left him behind with the others—for safekeeping.
A servant brought wine and passed the cup among the restless nobles.
“We’re only four days behind Count Lavastine!” exclaimed Duchess Liutgard in her usual impetuous manner. “I say we march on tonight!”