“Hush.”
They hurried across a broader avenue and stood in the narrow alley waiting for a score of mounted soldiers wearing the stallion of Wayland to pass before they scurried through the sludge to a narrow path between two-storied wood houses. The walls tilted awkwardly, shadowing their path, and the shadows made it almost as dim as twilight as they sidestepped refuse left lying in the cracked mud. Because it was cold, it did not stink, but it would, when spring brought warm weather.
“I’ll never get used to cities,” muttered Ivar.
“It’s not so bad,” said Erkanwulf. “A man’s freer here, where he can get rid of his past. And safer too, inside walls.”
“Only if those who are guarding you are trustworthy.”
His companion chuckled. “True enough. Wait here.” He left Ivar.
The side street debouched into a square at whose center stood a post where men could be tied for whipping. Beyond that lay the barracks; Ivar recognized them from his brief visit to Autun two years back. It was getting dark in truth. An aura of red lined the western sky, what he could discern of it beyond buildings and in the shadow of the clouds. Erkanwulf’s cloaked figure skulking at the barracks door, and vanishing inside, was rather like that of the shades they’d encountered in the forest that awful night last autumn. Ivar shuddered and wrapped his cloak more tightly around his torso as the chill of night crept into his bones. He’d been cold for a long time, and when he stood still he felt it most of all.
No one moved in the deserted square. Now and again dogs barked. Wheels squeaked as a wagon passed down a distant street. Someone coughed, and a moment later a man came out of a house, stopped to look at Ivar, and strode away past the barracks, soon lost as night concealed his tracks. With so many people crammed all into one small space, surely there should be more noise, like the pastures and fields and compound of his father’s estate which had always been busy with coming and going except in the worst winter and spring storms.
He shivered and stamped his feet. They had agreed that if Erkanwulf was gone too long, then Ivar would retreat back to the cottage in the woods, but just as he was beginning to get really anxious the side door to the barracks cracked open and a figure slipped out and hurried across to him. Ivar groped for his short sword and began to draw it, but relaxed as Erkanwulf trotted up, breath steaming.
“Come on! Captain’s here, off duty, and willing to hear us out. Hurry!”
They ran across the square and were ushered into a lamplit room at the end of the barracks hall where Captain Ulric slept and ate. The captain was sitting on a bench beside two of his sergeants, all three picking at the remains of a chicken.
Ivar’s eyes watered, but he forced himself to look at the captain instead, trying desperately to ignore the trickle of moist juices. He was so hungry.
“I didn’t expect to see you again, Brother Ivar,” said the captain, although his tone wasn’t unfriendly. He meant what he said.
“With your help, Captain, we were able to reach Princess Theophanu.”
“So Erkanwulf led me to understand. What news?”
“None. Her Highness sorrows to hear of her aunt’s plight, but she has no army and no treasury and cannot act against Lady Sabella and Duke Conrad. She offered us coin, fresh horses, good cloaks, and such weapons as we might use to defend ourselves, but nothing more than that. She bides in Osterburg at the seat of the duchy of Saony. That is all.”
“The Wendish king, the first Henry, was duke of Saony before he became king.” Ulric pushed the chicken away but paused with a hand on the wooden platter as he caught the desperation of Ivar’s gaze. “You two look hungry.”
He shoved the carcass toward them, then engaged his sergeants in conversation while the two young men stripped every last scrap of meat and fat from the bones. Ale was brought, and the cup refilled after they had drained it. That, and the warmth and smoky draft from the lamps, made Ivar so tired that he forgot his rehearsed arguments.
“Do you mean to support Biscop Constance, or not?” he demanded. “If you do, I have a plan that may allow us to free her. If not, then I pray you will let me go my way without hindering me, and let Erkanwulf remain here with no punishment. He’s been a loyal soldier.”
“Oh, I know it,” said Ulric without looking at Erkanwulf, but Erkanwulf grinned at hearing those words and his shoulders lifted as he self-consciously rubbed the dirty stubble of a beard grown along his jaw. “But if you free Biscop Constance, what then? She has no loyal soldiers and no treasury. She is in no wise different than her niece in Saony. Better she remain safe in Queen’s Grave. If she escapes, Lady Sabella will hunt her down and this time kill her.”