There was no frown of disapproval now, on his daughter’s brow. As was true of Demansk himself, Helga was partial to the breed of sturdy peasants who produced the Confederacy’s non-commissioned officers. They were the backbone of Vanbert military power, and she knew it as well as he did.
“I’ll want to keep Lortz,” she said. Her tone made clear that she was prepared for argument.
But Demansk gave her none. He had decided that Helga’s insistence on personal combat training was probably just as well. If nothing else, it kept her in superb physical condition. And . . . it might someday save her life.
Lortz was the former gladiator whom Helga had hired almost as soon as she returned from captivity. She had kept him busy even during the last trimester of her pregnancy, teaching her such skills as knife-throwing which her swollen belly still permitted. And she had resumed her regular training a mere week after giving birth.
He eyed his daughter’s figure, so evident even under the modest garment she was wearing. “Modest” in its cut, at least. Demansk wasn’t entirely happy with the sheerness of the thing, but—that was the modern style, after all, especially in summer. And this much he would admit: however modern the style of the garment, the muscles beneath the fabric were as hard as those of any peasant ancestress of the family.
“He’ll insist on bringing his, ah, servants with him,” Helga added, her lips curling at the euphemism for Lortz’s two concubines. “But there should be room. I’ll need to find a wet nurse anyway, so they can be company for her.”
“I’ve already found you a wet nurse. Jessep’s wife Ilset.” He nodded toward the infant in her lap. “They have a baby themselves; just about his age, as it happens.”
“A soldier’s wife? Good. That’ll be handy.” She gave her father a sly look. “And I’ll bet your entire fortune she’s full-breasted. A retired First Spear of the First Regiment—especially with the bonuses you pass out—would have had every peasant family in his province trotting out their daughters for inspection.”
Demansk grinned. “Ilset’s good-looking, no doubt about it. And, as you guessed, not slender. Precious few soldiers share the taste of aristocratic aesthetes for willowy women. Not Jessep, that’s for sure.”
He planted his hands on his knees and thrust to his feet. “Now that it’s definite, you should start making your preparations. It’ll be a few weeks still, though, so you needn’t rush anything. Sharlz will need time to find and outfit a ship, and Jessep the same in order to pull the escort together.”
“There’s really not much that I need to do in the way of preparation. A few days, no more.” She chucked the baby softly under his chin. “And he’ll need even less. Logistics is simple at his age. Where the tits go, he goes.”
“True enough,” chuckled Demansk. After a moment, the humor faded. “You’ll probably need to comfort Lissel a bit, once the news hits. Which probably won’t take long,” he added sourly, “knowing Barrett. I’ll be seeing him on my way to Preble.”
” ‘Probably?’ ” jeered Helga. “No ‘probable’ about it, Father. The minute Barrett learns he’s got a better offer in the making, he’ll march into Lissel’s rooms and tell her to start packing. You watch—you’ll probably even still be there when it happens.”
Demansk didn’t argue the point. His eldest son was . . . not a man he much liked.
Helga was scowling now. “And Lissel will come here straight off, wailing like a babe herself. I’ll keep two laundresses busy for a week, just washing the tear-soaked linens.”
Her father grimaced. “Do you really think she’ll be that upset? It never struck me that there was much affection in the marriage.”
“Heh. There isn’t any, Father. And what’s that got to do with anything? Lissel is a sweet enough girl, but she’s got the brains of a . . . oh, hell, even pigs are smarter. She’s a Vanbert gentry daughter, through and through. Never had an original thought in her brain. For someone of her class, a marriage to a Demansk meant a major leap in status. Being divorced will devastate her. It’s got nothing to do with Barrett.”