“We owe you nothing,” Rutger spat.
The Livonian looked around the blood-spattered field. “My men broke their advance. They would have overwhelmed you otherwise.”
“We did not call for your support,” Rutger said.
“We came, nonetheless,” the Livonian smiled.
“This does not assuage you of the blood debt between us,” Rutger said.
The blue-eyed knight laughed. His posture was relaxed, unperturbed, as if this were a casual training-yard discussion taking place rather than words exchanged hastily in the midst of a battlefield. “Of course not, old man. I would be disappointed otherwise.” He gestured, drawing Rutger’s attention to his scattered riders. “You will not claim it today, Virgin-defender. There is much still not done here.”
“Where is your master?” Rutger demanded.
The knight leaned forward. “I would ask the same of you. Where has Feronantus gone? Why do I not see that old war hound here today?”
In a flash, Rutger finally recognized the Livonian knight. It had been many years since he had seen the other man, and he had been so much younger. “You,” he gasped. “I know you.”
The Livonian laughed again. “Do you remember me now?” He pulled his helm down, hiding his face from Rutger’s accusatory gaze. He drew his sword, causing Rutger to take a step back in alarm.
“I kill only Mongols today, old man. My men will follow my lead. Pray to God that your fellow Brethren follow yours.”
“Kristaps,” Rutger spat. “This isn’t finished.”
“No,” Kristaps replied. “It is far from over.” He spurred his horse away from Rutger, returning to the assembling host of his bloodied men.
Rutger shuddered, his hands aching fiercely. He shouted over his shoulder, summoning the surviving Shield-Brethren. As much as he yearned for it to be otherwise, he knew Kristaps was right.
Old feuds would have to wait. There was other killing to be done first.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
The Second Vote
After Ocyrhoe told the Senator and the Cardinal about sending Ferenc and Father Rodrigo to the Porta Flamina—and the subsequent flurry of activity as Orsini had ordered his guards to scout the roads and countryside around Porta Flamina—she and Léna were left alone again in the small room that had once been Father Rodrigo’s room. The Castel Sant’Angelo was being thoroughly searched as well, she knew, on the off chance that everything said so far was a lie.
“I understand why they want me,” Ocyrhoe said after listening awhile to the distant sound of guards stomping around in the hallways. “I abetted fugitives. But you had nothing to do with it. You should be allowed to go back to Frederick.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I learn what has happened to the Binders of Rome,” Léna said. “That requires me to spend some time with Senator Orsini.”
“You aren’t safe with him,” Ocyrhoe pointed out with a note of alarm.
Léna smiled at her. “Our sisters have gone missing. The Senator knows what has happened to them. How could I not try to learn the truth?”
Ocyrhoe shuddered. “I do not want to be alone with him.”
“You’re a child; you’re not even fully trained,” Léna said. “That you survived the Senator’s efforts to this point is almost miraculous. Fear is natural, Ocyrhoe; it is guilt which you must not succumb to.”
“I could have done more,” Ocyrhoe mumbled, embarrassed that Léna had so clearly seen the source of her fear.
“In any crisis, survivors will always berate themselves that they could have done more,” Léna said, almost to herself. She blinked and then her sharp focus returned to Ocyrhoe. “I should get you out of Rome,” she said, almost as if to herself.
“Where would I go?” Ocyrhoe demanded, alarmed. “The farthest I’ve ever gone outside the city walls was the Emperor’s camp two days ago! I’d rather stay here with you and face Orsini.”
“Do not take offense at this, child, but you would only be a hindrance to me,” Léna said. “If you want to be of assistance to me, put yourself as far away from here as possible,” she said with a firm but reassuring tone.
“Why?” Ocyrhoe asked.