was true this time, irregular though it might seem.
“But Lydia is not part of his empire.” Luke chafed visibly at the idea.
“We are part of Christendom. As such, we ought to ally ourselves closely with the Holy Roman Empire. Such a position could prove to be advantageous.” John reached the end of the wharf and shielded his eyes from the sun, examining the quickly approaching vessel, her sails emblazoned with the distinctive Carolingian cross, four triquetras joined at the center to form the distinctive symbol of Emperor Charlemagne’s reign.
“Three masts!” The sight filled John with awe. Lydia had no ship to match it. And yet, “She looks to be wounded.”
“Aye, brother.” Luke clapped one hand on John’s shoulder and pointed with the other. “Her foresail has been rent and hastily mended. Do you think she has weathered a storm?”
“Or an attack.” John met his brother’s eyes.
“Saracens?” Prince Luke spoke the word softly, as though saying it aloud might draw the vicious pirates closer.
“They raid the Mediterranean waters regularly.”
“Never so close to Lydia.”
“We don’t know how far this ship has come,” King John acknowledged. “Or whether the Saracens may have taken her.”
“Taken her?” Fear sparked in his brother’s blue eyes as he looked out to the ship and back at the ramparts of their castle. If the pirates had taken the ship, they could approach under Charlemagne’s cross and dock before the Lydians realized trouble had reached their shores. The castle’s defenses might be breached before they could even prepare for battle. “Why would Saracens approach so boldly?”
“For no good reason.” John shook his head. He didn’t want to believe that Saracen pirates had taken the emperor’s ship, but given her condition, it was a distinct possibility. “Let us pray for Lydia’s safety.”
While the brothers murmured hasty yet heartfelt prayers, King John heard the rumble of boot steps on the wharf. He turned to find Eliab and Urias, two courtiers who’d been his father’s close advisors, panting as they trotted down the wharf.
“Your Majesty,” Urias called out. “You should not be out here!”
“This does not look good.” Eliab gestured to the ship as he bent to catch his breath.
“His Majesty should hide until we’ve determined the motives of the approaching vessel.”
John dismissed their concerns. The pair often treated him as though he was still a child, though he’d weathered twenty-eight winters and had ruled Lydia capably since his father’s death four years before. “I may determine their motives much faster if I stay here.”
“They’ve put down a boat!” Renwick had hardly taken his eyes from the ship.
“They’re worthy seamen, then.” John approved of the ship’s rapid loss of speed. They’d obviously put down an anchor. It was wise. He’d never docked such a large vessel alongside the wharf, and though he couldn’t be sure the depth of the ship’s rudder, he doubted they’d have made it to the dock without scraping against the submerged rocks that hid not so far below the water at low tide.
“What are they loading?” Luke studied the men as they carried a large fabric-draped bundle onto the boat. From the care they took in handling it, the cargo must have been delicate. The dark green cloth glistened in the sunlight like silk. Whatever was wrapped inside must be quite valuable.
A plump, wimpled figure was loaded next, with no shortage of howling admonitions. Then six burly men boarded and took to the oars with vigor, slicing through the water as though Charlemagne himself was watching.
“I believe that bundle is a person.” John observed the way they’d propped the bundle in the stern with the wimpled woman fussing over it. “A slender figure, perhaps a youth or a child.”
“Or a woman,” Prince Luke offered.
“On a ship?” Urias scoffed.
“It is possible,” Luke pointed out as the boat drew nearer and its contents easier to see. “The cut of the silk clothing is certainly suggestive of a female. And it would explain the lady in waiting.”
“Bah. A nurse to the child,” Urias insisted.
“Whatever it is, I hardly think myself to be in immediate danger from it.” John felt glad that he hadn’t run and hidden as his father’s advisors had suggested. Granted, he had an obligation to protect the throne. Urias and Eliab were understandably skittish about the issue of safety, having been with his father, King Theodoric, when he’d died defending one of Lydia’s villages on the Illyrian border.
But King John had two younger brothers and a much younger sister, as well. Prince Luke was a worthy leader, and Prince Mark would be, too, if he ever returned from his long journey by sea. God would provide a leader for Lydia. When his wife had died in childbirth three years before, John had resolved that his line would end with his death. He would not ask another woman to risk her life trying to bear an heir for him.
“You don’t suppose it’s a ruse?” Eliab watched the fast-approaching boat with skepticism. “To lull us into thinking we’ve nothing to fear and take us while our guard is down.”
“Eliab, you are far too suspicious,” John chided him. As the boat moved closer, the shrieks and groans of the white-faced woman in the wimple grew louder. If she was part of a ruse, she was overplaying her role. Rather than pay the woman much heed, John examined the faces of the other men in the boat. To his relief, none of them had the stature or features of Charlemagne.
John had met the emperor once, before Charlemagne had been crowned Holy Roman Emperor of all Europe. Then King of the Franks, Charlemagne was an impressive bull of a man who ruled with an iron fist. Despite the power and gusto with which he governed, the man was also an intellectual and a devout Christian of renowned faith. John not only respected and admired him, he also feared him.
And he feared, too, the reason for this unannounced visit under Charlemagne’s sails. Protocol would have had them send greetings well in advance of their visit so that John would have an opportunity to make preparations to host them. Obviously, there had to be some reason the men hadn’t wanted him to meet them well prepared.
The wimpled woman howled. She swayed on her feet but refused to sit. Her cries carried ahead of the rowboat through the warm August air. “Must you lurch so? Oh, I fear I shall faint before we make it to the shore!”
The rowing men grimaced, and John suspected they’d have liked for the woman to faint, if only to still her cries. As the boat drew nearer, the man closest to the prow, the only man without an oar in his hand, called out, “Greetings in the name of Charlemagne, Emperor of all Rome.” The man spoke in impeccable Latin. “What lands are these?”
John could only hope his own linguistic training was up to the imperial standard. “Friends, this is the Christian Kingdom of Lydia.”
A relieved smile spread across the man’s face, and John realized his expression had been quite anxious up to that moment. The man tossed a rope. “We seek King John, the healer.”
“You have found
