Child of Flame (Crown of Stars #4)

Child of Flame (Crown of Stars #4) Page 366

But Henry hadn’t let his anger twist him to do what he knew wasn’t right. Perhaps Zwentibold’s concubine was a decent woman doing the only thing she knew to make a place of safety for herself. Perhaps she was simply an opportunist, wanting beautiful clothes and rich food where she could get it. Another man, or woman, might take what he could get when he could get it and carelessly cast it away afterward, without thinking of the consequences. But Sanglant knew now how it felt to be abandoned. He had heard Waltharia mourn the death of the young child they had made together, the child he had never known, had not been permitted to know.

What if Frederun, back in Gent, had gotten with child by him? What would she do with a bastard child and no family to help her? Had he even sent a message to discover what had become of her? He had left her behind with less thought than Liath had left him.

“Nay,” he murmured, knowing these thoughts unfair to Liath. Hadn’t he heard his wife’s voice in Gent? Hadn’t she cried out to him: “Wait for me, I beg you. Help me if you can, for I’m lost here.”

His anger at his mother had deafened him. He had wanted, and had chosen, to believe the worst. Maybe, if he ever found Liath again, he should wait to hear what she had to say.

“But if you will not have me, what am I to do?” pleaded Marcovefa, still pressed against him.

“My lord prince.”

“Thank God.” He turned away from Marcovefa as his good friend hurried up to him, lamp in hand. “Heribert, you are come at just the right time. See that this woman is given sceattas, enough that she might set herself up in some business if she has any craft, or that she might return to Salia, or dower herself into a convent.”

Heribert raised one eyebrow, but his expression remained grave. “As you wish, my lord prince.” Marcovefa had flinched back at Sanglant’s words, but now she slid closer to Heribert, perhaps thinking to work her wiles on him. Sanglant smiled slightly, then frowned as Heribert went on. “You’d best attend to your brother. There’s trouble.”

It was a relief to climb the steps in the stone tower, the oldest part of the ducal palace, where noble prisoners were kept in a drafty chamber behind a stout door ribbed with iron bands. He had set his own men to guard Ekkehard’s door, knowing they would allow no mischief from folk who might otherwise be eager to harm the four men who had branded themselves as traitors.

“Trouble,” said Sergeant Cobbo, acknowledging him. Everwin, beside him, smiled nervously. “Captain’s inside with the noble ladies.”

“Which noble ladies would that be? Not my sister?” He had visions of Sapientia trying to pulp Ekkehard with her broadsword, but despite his youth Ekkehard was still taller and bigger than his elder sister, having inherited Henry’s height if not yet his breadth.

“Indeed, your sister. And Margrave Judith’s daughter, Your Highness. They’re both angry.”

He laughed curtly, thinking of Marcovefa’s tempting flesh. “And I’m damned thirsty, not having had a drink for far too long. We’ll see who’s most ill-tempered.”

Cobbo opened the door for him. He walked in to find Lady Bertha with four surly looking soldiers at her back and Ekkehard cornered between the hearth and a table by a raging Sapientia.

“It’s your fault!” Sapientia was screaming. “Bayan wouldn’t be dead if not for your treason!” She flung herself on Ekkehard, who raised his arms to protect himself from her fury.

Ekkehard’s three companions were being held back by main force by Sanglant’s soldiers as they tried to come to his aid. One wore linen bound around a head wound. Another’s arm was in a sling. Their dead comrade lay shrouded under a blanket on the chamber’s only bed. Not even Sanglant had dared suggest that the poor boy be given a place in the chapel beside Bayan and the other noble dead.

“My lord prince.” It was clear by the expression on Captain Fulk’s face that he was relieved to see Sanglant.

“Sapientia.” Sanglant crossed the plank floor in a half-dozen strides, grabbed his sister’s shoulders, and pulled her off Ekkehard. “Don’t let your grief for Bayan drive you to anything rash. God, and our father, will see that he is punished for his crimes.”

“I’ll see him hanged!” she cried, but she collapsed, weeping, into Sanglant’s arms, and he beckoned to her attendants, who hastened to her side, pried her off him, and led her away.

Bertha’s soldiers moved aside quickly to let them through, but as soon as Sapientia left the chamber, Bertha herself stepped forward. “What do you suppose King Henry intends to do with a son convicted of treason?”