Lady Waltharia’s soldiers spoke together in low voices, watching the prince as he bathed.
“Nay, I’d not have believed it. I swear those Quman would have run from him even if he’d been alone.”
“I’ve never seen a man fight so bravely.”
“I heard he went mad when his banner bearer went down.”
Lower still: “Is it true he can never be king?”
A sudden arc of noise ended in silence as Lady Waltharia entered the courtyard with a broad-shouldered lord in attendance. He was still armed, cheeks as flushed as though he’d been running. Drying blood streaked his blond hair, cut short to frame a square face. Waltharia had already shed her mail but the padded coat she wore showed stains of sweat around the collar and under the arms, and tiny discolored rings where her mail had pressed into the cloth.
At once, the soldiers broke into cheers.
She lifted a hand to call for silence. “Let Prince Sanglant be honored. If he had not struck, we would still lie under siege.”
As the soldiers hurrahed and shouted, Matto ran up with Sanglant’s feasting tunic. He pulled it on over his damp hair, a fine wool tunic dyed a mellow orange, embroidered with yellow and white dragons stretching like snakes along the hem and at the sleeves. He did not ask for quiet but got it anyway as he finished belting the tunic at his hips.
“Don’t rejoice too much.” Though he did not seem to shout, his hoarse voice carried easily over the throng. “Drink your fill tonight, but remember that we have more battles to fight. This was only a small portion of the Quman army. Their leader isn’t dead yet, nor are they running east like whipped dogs. As they will.”
The soldiers liked such words. They shouted his name, and then that of their lady and her husband, Lord Druthmar. The celebration carried them into the great hall. Prince Sanglant hoisted his daughter onto his shoulders where she shrieked and shouted with the best of them, her high voice lifting above the clamor. Anna thought she herself would be overwhelmed and trampled, but Matto and Captain Fulk closed in behind her, protecting her in a pocket of space behind the prince so she wouldn’t be crushed. The months hadn’t been as kind to her as they’d been to Matto, who had grown a hand in height and filled out through the chest. Although she never got bitterly hungry, she’d gotten lean. All the fat she’d earned in Mistress Suzanne’s compound had melted away under the rigors of riding to campaign. Caught up in the rush of rough and ready soldiers, she felt like a stick thrown into a stream swollen with the spring flood.
It was hard to hear anything at the feast over the constant singing and toasts, the dull roar of a satisfied and triumphant assembly. Anna stood in attendance on Blessing, as always. At intervals, she nibbled at the delicacies heaped up on Blessing’s platter as course after course rolled through: roasted goose with parsley and bread stuffing; a meat stew strewn with rose petals and sweetened with cherry preserves; oyster loaves; breads sprinkled with caraway and fennel; beef broth cooked with dill and leeks; a potage of ground hazelnuts, flour, and elderflowers; and honey dumplings again.
The victorious soldiers drank heavily. Lady Waltharia herself poured Prince Sanglant’s wine through a gold sieve spoon that she had gotten, so she said, as part of her inheritance from her dead mother, who had been Villam’s third and favorite wife.
Lord Druthmar seemed a steady sort of man, open, honest, good-hearted, and not one bit chafed by his wife’s authority. “We’ve heard reports that Bulkezu has captured Prince Ekkehard.”
“Has Bulkezu asked for ransom?” Sanglant chased off a greyhound that was trying to lick grease off the linen cloth laid over the prince’s knees. “Or do you think he’ll kill him?”
Lady Waltharia sat down between the two men. Anna moved quickly to stop Blessing from feeding a choice morsel of meat to the rejected greyhound.
“It’s only a rumor that the Quman captured Ekkehard,” said Waltharia. “Prince Bayan and Princess Sapientia wintered in Handelburg. We heard that Prince Ekkehard was imprisoned there, but he escaped the biscop’s custody and fled the town. The roads are cold and difficult in the wintertime, when he was last seen. I think he must be dead.”
Sanglant sipped thoughtfully at his wine. “It’s an implausible story. You know Bayan as well as I do. How could a youth like Ekkehard escape not just Bayan’s but also Biscop Alberada’s watch?” He shook his head. “For what offense is it said he was imprisoned?”
Blessing dropped her spoon. Anna crouched just in time to see the recalcitrant greyhound nosing the ivory spoon, licking off the remains of broth. She hissed, and the dog scrabbled away, kicking rushes up in her face. Half under the table, hands covered in rushes and a discarded bone digging into her knee, she heard Lady Waltharia’s quiet reply.