She was different this time, almost coquettish, whereas before she had been intense, dangerous. In the kindly light of the fire she seemed a young woman, or would were it not for the veins thrown into vivid relief on the backs of her hands.
He sipped at the wine, hardly aware of it. The fire cracked and spat like a cat. He wondered if he dare ask her what he was doing here.
“The King knows of your . . . patronage,” he said as she sat as if waiting for him to begin. Her gaze was alarmingly direct. It seemed to draw the words out of him. “I do not think he approves of it.”
“Of course he does not. He resents what he sees as my interference in his affairs, though they were my affairs before he was born. I am not a figurehead or a cipher in this kingdom, Corfe, as you should know by now. But I am not the hidden power behind the throne, either. Lofantyr grows into his kingship at last, which is good. But he still needs someone to watch over his shoulder sometimes. That is the burden I have taken upon myself.”
“You may have set me up for professional ruin, lady.”
“Nonsense. I knew you would equip your men somehow, just as I know that you and your command will acquit yourselves admirably in the fighting to come. And if you do not, then you are not worth worrying about and I shall cast about until I find another promising soldier to bring under my eye.”
“I see,” Corfe said stiffly.
“We are all expendable, Corfe, even those of us who wear crowns. The good of Torunna, of the whole of the west, must come first. This kingdom needs capable officers, not sycophants who know how to nod at Lofantyr’s every suggestion.”
“I’m not sure exactly what I’ll be able to accomplish with my five hundred savages in the south.”
“You will do as you are told. Listen: Lofantyr has begun outfitting what he sees as the true expedition to bring the rebellious southern fiefs to heel. It will be under the command of one Colonel Aras and will march in a week or ten days. Two thousand foot, five hundred horse and a train of six guns.”
Corfe scowled. “A goodly force.”
“Yes. You are being sent to deal with Ordinac at Hedeby—not one of the most important rebels, but the king feels he will be more than capable of tying down your motley command; he can put over a thousand men into the field. By the time you have been trounced by him, Colonel Aras and his command will have arrived on the scene to pick up the pieces, send you back to the capital in disgrace and get on with the real work of the campaign, the defeat of Duke Narfintyr at Staed.”
“I see the King has everything planned in advance,” Corfe said. “Is there any hope for my men and me, then?”
“I can only tell you this: you must defeat Ordinac speedily and move on to Staed. Colonel Aras does not outrank you and thus cannot give you orders. If you both arrive together at Staed, you will have to share the conduct of the campaign between you and thus there will be a greater chance of success for you and your men.”
“What do you think of my chances, lady?”
She smiled. “I told you once before, Corfe: I think you are a man of luck. You will need all your luck if you are to prosper in this particular venture.”
“Is this a test you’ve had the King set for me?”
She leaned closer. The firelight made a garden of shadows out of her features, started up green fires in her eyes. Corfe could feel her breath on his skin.
“It is a test, yes. I promise you, Corfe, if you pass it, you will move on to better things.”
Abruptly she grasped his worn tunic and pulled him close. She kissed him full on the lips, softly at first and then with gathering pressure. Her eyes were open, laughing at his shock, and that suddenly angered him. He buried his fists in the gathered hair at her nape and crushed her mouth against his.
They were on the thickly carpeted floor, and he had ripped open the bosom of her dress while her laughter rang in his ears. Buttons flew through the air like startled crickets. The heavy brocade resisted even his hardened fists and she leapt up and down in his grasp as he sought to tear it off her.
Suddenly, the maniac absurdity of his position struck him, and he desisted. They crouched on the carpet facing each other. Odelia’s breasts were bared, the round breasts of a woman who has given suck. Her dress had ripped to the navel and her hair was in banners about her shoulders, shining like spun gold. She grinned at him like a lynx. She looked incredibly young, vibrant, alive. He craved the feel of her again.
This time she came to him, sliding the gown from her body as easily as if it were a silken shawl. She was surprisingly wide-hipped, but her belly was taut and her skin when his hands met it was like satin, a thing to be savoured, a sensation he had almost forgotten in the recent burning turmoil of his life.
He explored the hardness of her bones, the softness of the flesh that clothed her, and when they finally coupled it was with great gentleness. Afterwards he lay with his head on her breast and wept, remembering, remembering.
She stroked his hair and said nothing, and her silence was a comfort to him, an island of quiet in the raging waters of the world.
S HE said not a word to him when he rose and dressed, pulling his tunic on and buckling the strange armour. Dawnsong had begun, though it was not yet light. His men would be waiting for him.
Naked, she stood and kissed him, pressed against the hard iron of his armour as he slipped the sword baldric over his head. She seemed old again, though, her forehead lined, fans of tiny wrinkles spreading from the corers of her eyes and the soft flesh hanging from the bones of her forearms. He wondered what magic had been in the night to make her appear so young, and she seemed to catch the thought for she smiled that feral grin of hers.
“Everyone needs a smidgen of comfort, the feel of another against them every so often, Corfe. Even Queens. Even old Queens.”
“You’re not so old,” he said, and he meant it.
She patted his cheek as an aunt might a favoured nephew.
“Go. Go off to war and start earning a name for yourself.”
He left her chambers feeling oddly rested, whole. As if she had plugged for a while the bleeding wounds he bore. When he strode his way down to the parade grounds he found his five hundred waiting for him beneath their sombre banner, silent in the pre-dawn light, standing like ranks of iron statues with only the plumes of their breathing giving them life in the cold air.
“Move out,” he said to Andruw, and the long files started out for the battlegrounds of the south.
T HE squadron was a brave sight as it hove into view around the headland. War carracks with their banks of guns,
He and Rovero went below as soon as the longboats brought the King’s party out to the ships. The squadron put about immediately, the ponderous carracks turning like stately floating castles in sequence, the smaller vessels clustering about them like anxious offspring.
Rovero went down on one knee as soon as he and Abeleyn were alone in the flagship’s main cabin. Abeleyn raised him up.
“Don’t worry about that, Rovero. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the past weeks, it’s not to stand on ceremony. How long before we strike Abrusio?”
“Two days, sire, if this south-easter keeps up.”
“I see. And what of the city when you left? How bad is it?”
“Sire, wouldn’t you like to change and bathe? And I have a collation prepared—”
