“Wolfhere must not be harmed!” Elene dropped to the floor, weeping.
“Let go, brat!” Berthold shook off Blessing. He crossed to Elene, grasped her hands, and knelt beside her. “I pray you, lady, do not despair. I won’t let Wolfhere be harmed.”
She lifted her face to stare up at him through her tears. Such a handsome couple! So young and so emotional, as the young were.
“Stop it!” said Blessing furiously. She stomped forward and tried to shove herself between Berthold and Elene.
“That’s enough, brat!” said Berthold sternly.
“Stop it, yourself!” Elene pinched the girl so hard on her backside that Blessing shrieked, leaped away, and flung herself into Anna’s arms, sobbing noisily.
“No one loves me! I hate all of you!”
Elene’s tears had dried. She looked at Berthold, measuring him, and he stared at her with all the intelligence of a young man who has fallen hard and helplessly into the snare of infatuation. She did not remove her hand from his. Tremulously, she smiled.
“No! No! No! He loves me, not her!”
“Your Highness,” said the servant girl, clutching the writhing child so tightly against her that the strain showed on her face, “I pray you, do not make a scene. Of course Lord Berthold loves you. We all do.”
“Even Papa got rid of me! No one loves me! No one! No one! No one!” She fell into a sobbing temper tantrum that took all the servant girl’s strength to contain.
Antonia smiled. “Lady Elene. What is it you wish?”
She released Berthold’s hands and stood. His concern had given her an infusion of strength. “I wish for Wolfhere to be released so he and I can continue north. I want to go home!”
o;I won’t!”
Wolfhere spoke for the second time. “Princess Blessing. Be good, as your father—and Brother Heribert—would wish you to.”
The words silenced her. She sniveled, but kept her mouth shut.
Elene smiled. She looked at Wolfhere, and he at her, and some message passed between them that Antonia could not read, but she understood its import. Prisoners as they were, fallen into the hands of enemies, they were not scared in the least.
They have a plan already.
“Captain, take him quickly, before I lose my temper,” said Adelheid. She turned toward the trap. “Holy Mother! Why have you come?”
“To see the prisoners, Your Majesty. How are they come here, in these terrible days?”
“They were found walking north. How can a pair of travelers with but one sorry mare between them have survived the journey through southern Aosta? Yet neither deigns to speak. We will have to torture the Eagle to extract a confession. Captain!”
Falco untied Wolfhere from the chair. The old man’s hands were still bound, and he was bundled away down the ladder while Elene stared after him. Adelheid followed.
“Here, now, brat,” said Berthold, “let go.”
“Won’t.”
“How have you come here, Lord Berthold?” asked Elene.
“I pray you, Holy Mother,” said Berthold sweetly. “Will you lead us in prayer?”
The girl started, then lifted her chin to acknowledge the blow. She was not subtle, but it was clear that, like her infamous father, she was stubborn and strong. And hiding something. There was a perfume, if not quite a smell, about her that reminded Antonia of Anne and the tower in Verna: the stink of sorcery, that she knew so well herself.
“You are Meriam’s granddaughter,” Antonia said.
The girl looked at her, surprised. That youthful face had a great deal of pride, but she was also wary, guarded, watchful. She was thinking, plotting, planning.
“Who are you?” she asked imperiously.