Theophanu was also playing chess. She sat at the table across from one of the clerics from the schola, but hers was a serious game, all maneuvering done in silence. Her gaze did not once leave the board as her opponent assessed the placement of red and white. Theophanu had left one of her Castles in jeopardy, but Sister Elsebet had lost one of her Eagles and looked ready to lose the second. Neither had the advantage, but either could win in five moves.

Duchess Liutgard was writing a letter with her own hand, supervised by a cleric of her household. Now and again she addressed a comment to Waltharia, who was seated beside her. Waltharia worked steadily with her needle as she embroidered the sleeve of a fine midnight-blue tunic sized, Sanglant noted, to fit a man. Obviously Waltharia was preparing to welcome the husband she expected to replace Lord Druthmar, the one she had asked Sanglant to find for her.

He sighed.

"I did not drop it."

"You did!"

"No, you misplaced it. It wasn't my fault, it was yours."

"You're always blaming me!"

This from the corner, where Rotrudis' daughters, Sophie and Imma, sat and whispered. Despite hating each other, they were rarely apart. Their brother Wichman snored on a couch, an empty cup just about to slide out of his right hand.

Clerics, stewards, servants: he marked each one. He knew them all. Those who were new to his retinue were revealing their quirks and temperaments to him, day by day. Naturally, the only one missing was his beloved wife. He frowned.

“Anything," Gerberga repeated. Her gaze dropped briefly onto her husband, and she flushed and waved a hand in the air as if to fan away a fly.

Ekkehard looked up. "Why must 'Cinda stay behind?"

That got their attention. Every head lifted. After a breath, or three breaths, most looked away but everyone continued to listen. Even Wichman stirred, opening his eyes. On a quiet night such as this, they had to enjoy whatever entertainment came their way.

"You are too attached to her, Ekkehard."

Theucinda looked up at her sister, trembled, and said nothing. She was the youngest of Judith's brood. Coming after the beautiful Hugh, the forthright and commanding Gerberga, and the blunt and combative Bertha, it was no wonder that she was a mouse.

"She is like a sister to me!" objected Ekkehard. 'Aren't you?" he said, pressing Theucinda, although it was obvious the girl would have preferred to remain silent. 'Aren't you?"

Something shifted in her expression. Perhaps, after all, she hid her stubborn Austran streak beneath that fragile, freckled complexion and rosy mouth. A pretty enough girl, but not at all to Sanglant's taste. Thank God he had escaped marriage to her!

The diminutive creature spoke in a soft voice. "I don't want to enter the church, Gerberga." The words came out as if she had learned them by rote. She looked at Ekkehard, then blushed.

"I said I'd marry her!" cried Wichman, rallying from his stupor. He scratched his crotch, burped, and stared with incomprehension into his empty cup.