“Even so, could Burgundy – alone, for I doubt very much if the emperor would risk an alliance – raise the kind of army that could stand against the full might of the Frankish kingdoms? For, surely, in face of such a threat, your sons’ differences would be forgotten, and a united Frankish army would take the field?”

“That is what I pray for.”

“And work for, madam?”

“And work for.” This time the smile was grim. “So I move between my sons’ capitals, and – I make no secret of it – I still have friends near the Burgundian court who keep me informed. For old times’ sake –” the words were said mockingly, but the duke thought they were sincere – “I keep my own palace here, near St Martin’s shrine, and the monastery that he founded, the first in Gaul, and the holiest. So Childebert sits in Paris, while I watch his border here, and Chlodomer waits in Orleans for Godomar of Burgundy to move. As long as I am here …” She lifted her shoulders again in a shrug, and let the sentence die.

“I cannot believe,” said Duke Ansirus courteously, “that such a queen will not succeed in anything she sets out to accomplish.”

“Hah!” It was a disconcerting bark of laughter. No fool, the old queen, thought Ansirus. She knows as well as I do that those sons of hers, skin-deep Christians at best, will, given the least excuse, tear the country apart as surely as hungry wolves tear a carcase. Well, let us hope, for her sake and young Theudovald’s – and more than that, for the sake of Britain and the fragile peace that the High King Arthur keeps there – that Chlodomer stays alive long enough to see his sons grown and his kingdom safely and peaceably bestowed.

His eyes met Clotilda’s. Assuredly no fool, the old queen. She nodded, as if in answer to his thought.

“Well, we shall see,” she said.

And here, to the duke’s relief, dinner was announced, and a steward sent to summon the two children.

THREE

The Knight-Errant

10

Alexander’s mother did not marry again, though her youth and beauty – and perhaps the snug little property that was hers now in the Wye Valley – brought a few hopeful gentlemen to her door. But all were disappointed. The Princess Anna remained there unwed, living in comfort and a slowly growing contentment. Theodora and Barnabas were unfailingly kind; the former was happy to have Anna’s company, and the latter, relieved as time went on of the fear that Anna, with a new marriage, might bring in another claimant to Craig Arian, devoted himself to their welfare. With the help of this good and gentle man Anna soon learned to manage the affairs of the small estate, which she and Barnabas did together in Alexander’s name.

As is the way of things, she recovered in time from the shock and grief of her husband’s murder, but she never abated her hatred of King March, nor her determination that some day he should be made to pay for his foul deed. She took care, as the boy grew up, that he should learn what kind of man his father had been, and learn also to be proud and glad of that inheritance. Men called him, in pity, Alexander the Fatherless, but in fact the child did not lack the father’s presence as much as he might have done, because Barnabas saw to it that he learned the skills he would need, those of a fighting man, and of the master of an estate, albeit a small one. So Alexander grew up in safety, and even in happiness, for the place was a peaceful one, and ‘the High King’s peace’ was a reality in the gentle valleys he knew.