“Are they sick?” demanded Sapientia, who had finally dismounted after riding around in the trees for a while, looking for someone else to fight. She had returned from the woods to declare she would ride back to the battle, but Constance had forestalled that with a direct order, aunt to niece, and even the brash Sapientia dared not go against a biscop’s command. Constance could not be more than four or five years older than Sapientia, but her authority far outweighed that of her brother’s daughter.
“I do not know if they are sick,” she said now, “but we must be cautious. I have heard many tales of the plague in Autun, which was hard hit by a sickness some twenty years ago. Take them aside and guard them, but let none touch them.”
Biscop Antonia showed no sign of the disease, nor did the one young cleric who stood closest to her. But Constance did not look likely to let the biscop out of her sight, sickness or no.
“You will answer for what you did, Antonia,” said Constance.
“We all answer to God,” said Antonia reasonably.
A thunder of hooves alerted them. Sapientia’s captain had returned with the rest of her troops but without the skirmishers from Saony. His expression was chilling. “What is wrong?” cried Sapientia.
Antonia smiled knowingly.
“Good captain,” said Constance in a firm but calm voice. “What news do you bring?”
He appeared stricken. “The Lord has blessed us with victory, Your Grace, but a terrible prize it is this day.” For one instant, Antonia’s triumphant expression was wiped clean to show something nastier, cunning and brittle, beneath. Hanna glanced toward Constance, who looked grave—as well she might. When she looked back at Antonia, the old biscop had regained her usual expression, as placid as a saint’s, as smooth as cream, and Hanna had to shake her head, wondering if she had imagined that other face.
“Give us your report,” said Constance. Sapientia looked likely to grab her horse and gallop away, but— after one sharp look from Constance—she stayed where she was.
The captain dismounted and knelt before her. “Victory belongs to King Henry, but at high cost. Many lie dead on the field, for Sabella used—” Here he faltered. “—she brought a creature on the field, a terrible thing that truly must have sprung from an evil sire, and by its magic her army slew fully half or more of Henry’s army—aye, indeed, almost all of his Lions—while they stood frozen on the field, held in the grip of some misbegotten enchantment.”
Sapientia gasped aloud. Soldiers muttered in disbelief and horror. Almost all of his Lions. Hanna gulped back a sob of foreboding.
Constance raised a hand for silence, and it was granted her.
“How then did Henry win the day? If all transpired as you report?”
“I do not know. Only that a man—a frater—threw himself on the beast and somehow it was distracted from its sorcery and killed.”
Antonia said something under her breath, but Hanna could not hear. Her face remained pleasant, but her eyes had grown hard.
Constance paled. “A frater?” she asked. “What do you know of this?”
“Some say it is the son of Burchard, Duke of Avaria, but I can scarcely believe that—” Constance lifted a hand sharply and he fell silent.
One tear rolled down Constance’s cheek, and then the wind blew it away and it vanished as if it had never existed. “Take her away, out of my sight,” she said, pointing at Biscop Antonia, “but guard her closely.” The captain, startled, jumped to his feet and did as he was told.
“What about Sabella?” Sapientia called after the captain. “Did she escape?”
“No,” said the captain as his men surrounded Biscop Antonia and led her away to one of the wagons. “Villam captured her himself, though he was sorely wounded. Some fear he will not live. She is in Henry’s custody now.”
Constance shut her eyes and remained that way for a long while as Antonia was taken away and lodged in a wagon under heavy guard, as Sapientia finally lost patience and called for her horse.
“Come, Eagle,” called the princess. “You will ride with me.”
“No,” said Constance suddenly, opening her eyes. “Go if you wish, Sapientia, but I will have an Eagle by me, as is my right.” She touched the gold torque at her neck.
“It is true,” said Sapientia thoughtfully, tossing her head, “that your loyal Eagle reached us from Autun, and that was how Father knew to ride here.” Then, strangely, she smiled. “But without an army, how can Father ride to Gent?”