“Fifty men,” Haakon said to Cnán. “How many Shield-Brethren?”
She shrugged, not wanting to tell Haakon the true number. “A dozen or more,” she lied.
“Who leads them? Is it Feronantus?”
Cnán felt herself growing impatient. “This isn’t important. We have to flee.”
“It is important,” Haakon insisted. “Because we’re going to help them.”
“You are out of your mind,” Cnán snapped. “We are deep within the Mongol Empire. We have very little in the way of supplies. We are—you are—clearly a stranger in this land. We only have one horse. We can’t afford to go riding into... into—” She struggled to find the right words.
“Battle?” Haakon supplied. He smiled at her and glanced at Krasniy. “Where else would we go?”
Cnán let loose a tiny cry of frustration. Completely stubborn, she thought. Just like Feronantus.
“They are my friends,” Haakon said. “They are my family.”
She glared at him. Was that not the same reason she had defied Feronantus to stay behind and rescue Haakon? Had she not—over the long journey from the West—come to think of the Shield-Brethren as family? She couldn’t find fault in Haakon using the same reasoning in his argument.
“Fine,” she snapped. She pointed at Lian. “What about her?”
Krasniy laid a large hand on the Chinese woman’s shoulder. “She can be with me,” he said, a broad grin on his face.
Lian tossed her hair back from her shoulder and smiled up at the giant man. Cnán was unsure whether Lian had been able to follow their argument, but she could tell from the anger in the woman’s eyes that Lian understood the meaning of Krasniy’s hand on her shoulder.
“Come on,” she said with a hint of resignation. She turned and started to weave her way through the woods.
This whole rescue was turning out to be much different from what she had planned.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
An Imperial Breakfast
Frederick squinted at the pair who had interrupted his breakfast. “You seem to have traded down,” he said to wide-eyed Ferenc. “We gave you a Cardinal and you have brought us back a mere priest. And where is the rest of your posse?”
“Your Majesty, he doesn’t understand you,” the priest said in a grandfatherly voice.
Frederick sighed. “I know. You were not present for the farce yesterday, a tedium exacerbated by the fact that even as I was being excommunicated—again—the Cardinals were electing a new Pope. I have heard there was white smoke sighted. Are you here to inform me of the identity of the new Pope?”
“I am, Your Majesty,” the priest said.
Frederick waited for the priest to continue. “And that man is...”
“I am he,” the priest said. “The new Pope.”
Frederick started to smirk, but upon noticing the unblinking sternness of the priest’s expression, he delicately raised a hand to hide his amusement. “Of course you are,” he said. “Obviously.” He spread his hands in a welcoming gesture. “Splendid. Well, here you are, already coming to give me grief,” he said, a mocking tone creeping into his voice.
The priest gave him a puzzled look. “You do me a disservice, Your Majesty, in thinking my intentions are malign.”
“Ah, a benign papal visit then. And so early in your reign. To what do we owe this honor?” Frederick asked. He signaled a servant waiting by the tent flap, and made a gesture demanding wine. He leaned back in his carved wooden chair. “I do wish you spoke Italian or German,” he said in Ferenc’s direction. “It would be nice to get a second opinion as to whether I should believe this story or not.”
“Ferenc is a good boy,” the priest said as if protecting him. “He would not tell you anything unless I gave him permission. So you may as well just talk to me directly.”
“Very well then,” Frederick replied. “This comedy continues. I have no other choice but to play my role in this, do I?” When the priest did not answer, Frederick continued. “Have you selected a name for yourself, or is there a Christian name your mother gave you that still suffices?”
“Rodrigo,” the priest said with a tiny bow of his head. “Rodrigo Bendrito.”
“Well met, Rodrigo Bendrito. Or would you prefer Your Holiness?”
The priest demurred responding, offering a much more pious and humble nod of his head instead.
“I shall split the difference then,” Frederick offered. “Tell me, Father, what brings you here.”
“We are paying our respects.”