Hanna could only shake her head while she stared into the woods, hoping to catch sight of the princess’ troops. A few soldiers lingered. Most of the people in the supply train were down, wounded or dead, or else they milled around aimlessly with that lost look on their faces of men and women totally out of their element. Some ten paces behind the deacon lay two guards in Sabella’s colors; both were dead. About five wagons beyond their bodies, Hanna suddenly saw a woman in biscop’s vestments being helped onto a wagon.
“Ai, Lady!” she breathed. “That is Biscop Antonia.” “She must not escape,” said the deacon in a hard voice. “Find me a horse, or find my niece and bring her back from the woods.”
My niece. Hanna had a horrible thought. She risked a close look at the woman’s face and decided it could be true, that the resemblance could be marked in the cast of the woman’s features, in her nose and jawline and piercing gaze.
She bent to one knee, swiftly, and bowed her head. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace,” she said quickly.
“Never mind that!” snapped the woman. “I do not want Antonia to get away. And I have no weapon that can stop her.”
Hanna obeyed her. She ran toward the woods, sure that she would get run through at any moment. But Sapientia’s troops came riding back, flanked by the red dragon soldiers of Saony. The other troop of soldiers, Lavastine’s skirmishers, had evidently retreated. Hanna hailed her, and the princess pulled up at once.
“Your aunt, Biscop Constance, waits for your protection,” Hanna cried, grabbing hold of the reins as Sapientia’s horse shied away. Hanna knew horses well enough to see that this one had, besides a nervous disposition, a heavy-handed rider, and far too much excitement to cope with. “She begs of you to stop Biscop Antonia from making her escape.”
Sapientia’s expressive face lit up. “Captain!” she cried, “you must find and protect Constance. Follow, you who are with me!” She urged her mount forward so quickly she tore the reins out of Hanna’s hands. Perhaps thirty of her troops went with her; the rest hung back, confused or waiting for confirmation of this order from the old captain. He muttered something under his breath, then raised his voice so all the soldiers could hear him.
“You ten, you return to the wagons and protect Biscop Constance. We have more than enough soldiers here. The rest, and you soldiers from Saony, will return with me to the field where Henry fights.” They began to form up. He looked down at Hanna. “Eagle! You remain with Biscop Constance.”
She nodded, happy at this moment to be subject to an authority that knew what it was doing. They rode back toward the battle, whose outcome none of them knew.
So it was that, despite everything and despite several flurries of disorder caused by Sapientia’s enthusiasm, Biscop Antonia was taken prisoner together with her host of clerics. Duke Berengar was found, huddling underneath a wagon with only one loyal servingman at his side; he was so frightened he had pissed in his leggings. Hanna actually felt sorry for him when he was brought before a stern Biscop Constance, who, having taken command of Sapientia’s forty soldiers, now controlled the supply train. But Constance showed him— not pity, but indifference. Hanna quickly understood why: she had seen that slack-jawed gaping and sudden bursts of inappropriate laughter before. Berengar was a simpleton, and therefore a simple pawn—a mere Lion in the game of chess. He did not matter.
The person who mattered here was Biscop Antonia, who looked to Hanna’s eyes rather cheered at the thought of being in Constance’s power. Antonia was a kind-looking woman who did not bear herself with the haughtiness of most of the nobly-born but rather with a smiling modesty. And yet in the parley, faced with Helmut Villam, she had raged with a passion that did not appear to be part of her now.
And there was one other prize, hidden among the clerics.
“Ah,” said Constance. “Come forward, Tallia. I will not hurt you, child.”
The girl was led forward. She was crying, and it made her nose red. She had nothing to say for herself except to throw herself on Constance’s mercy. But Hanna kept looking past her toward Antonia’s clerics. They were the most unsightly mass of churchmen Hanna had ever seen; they all looked as if they had some form of pox, with red sores on their faces and hands and rashes along their chins. Several of them were coughing feebly, and one— the most sickly of the lot—had a thin stain of blood on his hand when he lowered it from his mouth.
Ai, Lady! thought Hanna. What if they have the plague?
“Separate them from the others,” said Constance to Sapientia, as if she had the same thought. “But I will keep Tallia and Berengar beside me.”
