Gent’s biscop, Suplicia, came up beside them, shaking her head in wonderment. “Griffins! It is a sign of God’s favor.”

A woman broke free of the gathering crowd and climbed the steps to kneel before Biscop Suplicia.

“I pray you, Your Grace, let me speak. I am an honest and loyal merchant in this town.”

“I know who you are, Mistress Weaver,” said the biscop kindly. “You are bold to throw yourself forward at such a solemn time. Remember, this is the king.”

Robes and crown were a fine thing because they allowed him to remain silent and keep his distance, shielded by the aura of majesty.

She looked at him but only nodded. What had once passed between them had left nothing more than a fleeting memory in her expression. She had moved on. Indeed, she looked indignant as she bent her head humbly and spoke before the church women.

“I pray you, Holy Mother. Your Grace. Your Majesty. Many among us have wondered this day why a woman who has served God so well must kneel outside this holy place as a penitent. I speak of this woman, the Eagle. Know this, there are many here who were themselves saved or who have children or cousins or kinfolk who were saved because St. Kristine of the Knives chose to appear before that one. The blessed saint chose that woman to lead the children of Gent to a place of safekeeping. Why is she dishonored and humbled in this way?”

“You trouble me with your bold speaking, Mistress,” said Mother Scholastica sternly. “What means this?”

“Nay, it is true, although I did not witness the event myself,” said Biscop Suplicia. “It is a story told throughout the city by those who survived the Eika. If this is that same Eagle, then there must be many here who will be willing to speak. If you allow it, Your Majesty.”

“I see the strategy unfold,” said Mother Scholastica, glancing at her nephew and again at Liath, who had not moved since the departure of the griffins. “You knew this would happen.”

“I hoped it would,” he replied.

The handsome Suzanne kept her gaze lowered, but she heard him. “Many will speak if they are allowed, Your Majesty,” she said without looking at him. “Your Holiness, I beg you.” She lifted her right hand. A dozen worthy and prosperous-looking people ventured forward from the crowd and knelt on the steps below her.

“I am called Gerhard, of the tanners, Your Holiness. I know of fourteen young people whose lives were saved by this woman.”

“I am called Gisela, of Steleshame, Your Holiness. I witness that many took refuge in my steading who were saved by the intervention of the saint through this woman.”

“I am called Karl, Your Holiness. I am a blacksmith …”

So they went on, a solemn procession of sober-minded responsible folk who, by the work of their hands, had caused Gent to prosper in the years after the Eika invasion. The most noble abbess and biscops and church folk heard them out. As they spoke, one by one, others, more humble, crept forward from the crowd to place flowers and wreaths at Liath’s feet before scuttling away as though they feared lightning might strike. They spoke softly to her, but he could hear them because his hearing was as keen as a dog’s.