48 The Funeral IX (1/2)

Farther up the small hill, after they'd cleared the edge of the forested path and came upon the purposely uncultivated meadow surrounding a large mausoleum, it was as if an invisible wall suddenly rose up, muting the noise from all directions.

At almost four hours past noon, the sun had mellowed out. Combined with a light wind blowing from the east, the heat had taken on that pleasant, even sleepy quality. In happier circumstances, it would have been the perfect weather for a day out, and that was the very illusion given by the image that met Hilde's eyes.

The first bier had been arranged on the rightmost edge of the royal tombs' entrance; to its left, the second bier was likewise being positioned. These had now been left in the care of attendants who'd been here since before, waiting to take up the baton from the exhausted.

As for the families, soldiers, and those who were with them from the beginning, blankets were even now being spread on the grass, at least a yard away from the wheeled contraptions and their passengers. Many who'd arrived first were already gratefully atop them, sitting on their calves or with their legs crossed, accepting cloths, fortifying drinks, and – for those who had the stomach for it – food.

Still near the Lord General's family, which was missing two members instead of just one, a panting Leal and another countryman had claimed spaces. A few of the soldiers sat on their haunches directly on the grass, not even moving away from their assigned biers.

If not for how disarrayed and drained they all looked, it really could have been your everyday picnic at a beautiful garden of wildflowers.

Under the shade of a lone tree to the left side of the meadow, servants had spread a thick, wide blanket for the royals' use. Once they had led Prince Dieter's bier directly before the heavy doors of the rectangular white building at the center of the meadow, Captain Judda and his men also forwent dignity, choosing to rest right where they were. Inge didn't so much sit as slid to the ground.

Wishing she could just drop where she stood as well, Hilde gave the young soldier a glance – he would still not meet her eyes – and nodded in thanks at Raban and the others. When she turned to walk away, she was then pleasantly surprised to find Frieda before her, waiting to assist her to their reserved spot.

Her expression immediately melted into gratitude. ”How are you this wonderful?” she said, taking the maid's offered arm in an almost familiar manner.

Blushing, the older girl answered, ”I'm just doing my job, Princess.”

Hilde laughed weakly.

”But I'm not your job, Frieda – I'm hers.” Saying this last, she nodded towards her real attendant, who'd long ago drifted away in the crowd and was only now arriving with the fourth bier. Wistfully, she went on, ”Would that you could train her… no, would that she COULD be trained.”

Well aware that Nadia was exactly the person she had wanted around, back when she still hadn't known any better about anything, Hilde was resigned to the fact that she was stuck with many of her choices, this one first among them – it wasn't in her to simply sack the poor, slightly addled woman.

She and Frieda, with Nadia trotting towards their direction not far behind, were the last to arrive under the tree. As soon as she sat, Hilde told Lady Ilse, ”You have a very fine staff, Lady. Thank you for lending me their services.”

Fanning herself, the Lady grunted her acknowledgment. ”Our Steward has a knack for finding earnest workers. I lay all the credit at her door. As for your staff, Princess…” It was with visible distaste that she eyed Nadia, who'd just arrived only to collapse somewhere behind Hilde, with nary a cloth, drink, or a simple ”Is there anything you need?” for the mistress she ought to be serving. It was once again Frieda who saw to her care. ”You really might as well not have one.”

Her critical gaze next slid towards the Queen, who was quietly looking off at the direction of the royal tombs, seemingly unmindful of the exchange happening by her. Likewise, Gisela was gazing absently at her lap, her hands worrying at the edges of a gray drying cloth.