Gisela raised her chin with a stubborn tilt. “I could share the king’s horse.”
Her assertion brought a roar of disapproval from the courtiers, and even Boden’s men, who’d silently manned their oars all this time, appeared to have some difficulty maintaining their impassive expressions.
Boden, especially, looked vexed. As Charlemagne’s acting captain, no doubt the man was expected to grant any request Gisela made. As the emperor’s daughter, she was of higher rank than anyone there, except for John himself, and that was only because they were in Lydia and not her father’s holdings. Had they been standing on the soil of the Roman Empire, he’d have bowed to her.
Boden brushed the sweat from his brow. “Perhaps, Your Highness, you could be carried in a litter after the king. Your maid could accompany you.”
“Litters travel slowly. There isn’t time. My maid can follow on another horse.” Princess Gisela spoke in a commanding voice and clearly expected her father’s servants to obey. “Now help me up. We must make haste. Already the day grows long.”
The men laid down their oars and helped the maid from the boat first. Then they gingerly hoisted the princess toward the dock. She stood, half leaning on her maid, her injuries once again covered by the veil.
John felt a sense of relief that the woman was able to stand. Perhaps she could stay on a horse. A litter, as she’d aptly noted, would be much too slow. Nor could he afford to have her ride another horse behind his. If he became separated from her party, especially as darkness fell, they would waste precious time finding one another again in the thick woods.
And one horse had a greater chance of slipping unseen through the Illyrian borderlands. The larger their party, the greater the risk of being spotted. Relations with the Illyrians were fragile enough. He had no desire to strain them further.
“What do you think?” Luke leaned close and spoke in a hushed tone. “She might be able to make the ride. Will you be able to find the herb?”
“The summer draws to a close. Hare’s tongue isn’t so abundant now, but yes, I should be able to find some.”
“Is there any chance you could bring it back in time to save her if she stayed at the castle?”
“None.” John wished he could tell his brother otherwise. It was foolish enough to get involved in the emperor’s dealings, situated as they were between the Roman Empire to the west, and the Illyrian holdings of the Byzantine Empire to the east. If the Illyrians and the Romans decided to play tug of war with Lydia, his tiny nation would never know peace.
But if he let the emperor’s daughter die without even trying to help, the empires would obliterate Lydia for revenge.
He didn’t like it—not at all. But neither did he see any way around it. And there wasn’t time to waste fretting. There was more than one woman’s life at stake—there was the safety of all Lydia. If the Illyrians went to war with the Roman Empire, Lydia would be trampled between them—especially if Lydia was blamed for bringing war upon them.
King John raised his voice and addressed those gathered on the dock—including half a dozen soldiers who’d been dispatched from the castle and now stood at attention near the head of the wharf. “Ready my horse and falcon and prepare a horse and party for the maid.” He looked to the wimpled woman. “I’m sorry, I haven’t been told your name.”
“Hilda, Your Highness.”
“Prepare a litter for Hilda.” He lowered his voice and explained to those standing nearby, “The retinue can follow as best they can.”
“But, Your Majesty,” Urias sputtered, “you’re not really thinking of taking a riding party to the Illyrian border?”
“Certainly not,” John assured the courtier. “The riding party won’t be able to travel nearly as quickly as my horse. Once I’ve applied the hare’s tongue to her injury, the princess and I will double back and meet up with her maid. If we must encamp on the road, she’ll have a proper attendant.”
“Your Majesty,” Eliab simpered, “who will be in charge of the castle while you’re away?”
Only respect for his father and the trust he’d placed in the courtiers kept John from uttering a prickly retort. But even the trust of his late father wouldn’t earn either man a custodial role in his absence. “Prince Luke is more than capable of overseeing matters while I’m away. With your prayers for my safe passage, I should be back by sundown tomorrow.”
“And if you’re not, what then?” Eliab pressed. “Shall we send a regiment to look for you?”
“No.” John gave them a hard look and made sure Luke heard him clearly. “If I am delayed beyond next evening, it may be a sign of trouble with the Illyrians. Dispatching soldiers would be the worst possible response. I’ll have my falcon. If Fledge returns without me, then you may be concerned. Whatever happens, you must trust Luke’s judgment. He is a prudent and capable leader.”
Luke gave him a firm smile in return for his compliment. “God be with you, brother.”
John met his brother’s eyes and was glad to see that Luke understood. They hadn’t asked for this, but it wasn’t a challenge they could walk away from. As rulers of Lydia, they had an obligation to protect their people—as their father had done—and to die protecting their people, if the situation called for it. Despite the political entanglements, this mission was no more difficult than others they had undertaken in the past. But there was a great deal more riding on the outcome.
Chapter Two
Gisela leaned on Hilda and tried to catch her breath. Really, standing upright should not require such exertion.
Nor should thinking.
But the blearying effects of the throbbing wound above her right eye made her head swim as though their ship hadn’t escaped the Saracens at all. If they’d been sunk in the Mediterranean, surely even then her thoughts would not swim so. The constant roar of the sea echoed through her head as though she held a great seashell to her ears to listen.
But there was no seashell, only these unending waves of fever that gripped her with their relentless thrashing.
She could hear the rattle and clank of gear and smell the scent of a horse over the brine of the sea, which lapped gently at the wharf beneath them. At least King John had been sensible enough to accept her plan. There really wasn’t any way around it. If she’d had use of her eyes and known what she was looking for, she’d have gone after the hare’s tongue herself.
“Your Highness, the ride will be difficult.” That was King John’s voice, much nearer to her now. If she reached out, she could touch him.
She remained still. “I’m quite sure the alternative is worse.” She wished she could open her eyes and look at the man, but even her left eye, though uninjured, was swollen shut by the spreading infection. Every time she’d tried to raise the lid, she’d felt such a horrific spasm of pain that she’d stopped trying.
“I thought I should extend a word of caution. I’ll do my best to make the trip a smooth one, but we’ll be riding over uneven ground—”
“Your attention should be on the terrain, not on me.” She quieted his apologies. “And I expect you’ll need to be looking for this hare’s tongue. Don’t let my presence distract you, King John.”
“We should be going then, Your Highness. The sun reverses its course for no one, not even kings and emperors’ daughters.” His voice betrayed a melancholy sadness. Gisela couldn’t help wondering what had caused it. At the very least, she hoped he didn’t terribly mind the inconvenience she’d caused him—or if he did mind, he could blame the Saracens, since they’d started the trouble.
For her own part, though her injury concerned her, Gisela felt a mixture of dread and relief that her trip to Illyria had been