Men joked about how women spent endless time improving their looks.<br/><br/>Belinda had spent considerable time calculating how far to degrade hers, and significant time getting her look right were she wanted it.  Too ugly stood out as much as too beautiful.  In truth, she was not as beautiful as some thought, she had a way with words and manners that could charm as strongly as any spell.  But she was better looking than most, and in an Army camp - which this ferry town certainly was, it wouldn't do to attract too much notice from lonely soldiers.  Or the professionals who entertained those soldiers, being caught in a turf war between pimps... she'd had enough of that in her youth.<br/><br/>But the gods had granted her certain gifts, and she was willing to use them.  sSing talent, looks, and skill, she had swiftly determined where the leading edge of the first wave of returning Huscarls would arrive, and here they were. Freebooting brigands of the Pretender, loyal swords of The Rightful King?<br/><br/>History would decide.<br/><br/>Belinda couldn't wait for history, she had to decide soon.  No guidance from her chain of command, a chain sundered  by the strife that enveloped every other institution of the kingdom.  And at the local level, here on the frontier, which brother to support was far from a settled question.<br/><br/>When she had joined the meeting of local agents to decide the question, she hadn't known she would be the only one walking out of the room.  But she had considered the possibility, made arrangements to ensure that if talking with tongues turned to speaking with blades  - and that had happened with dismaying speed - she wouldn't be the last person cut in the fighting.<br/><br/>She hadn't been cut at all, in fact.  Nobody considered a woman known for dancing as her primary physical skill to be a threat.  So she had hid in a corner, then finished off the wounded winner.  He had tried to tell  her who he supported, she didn't much care.  She had made her choice, how to carry it out and she didn't need anybody around who knew her by sight to trip her up, spoil her play.<br/><br/>The ramp of the ferryboat came down, soldiers spilled ashore.    The leading edge of the first wave of bloodied veterans fresh from a victorious war. Hails from comrades from this side of the river, shouts from pimps and touts, catcalls given to and returned by camp followers, chatter from vendors and sutlers, the normal noise of an Army assembling and coiling to strike.<br/><br/>Time.  Everybody needed it.  Matthew needed time to move south, garner support from the frontier Nobility.  Phillip need time to gather troops and wealth from the interior Nobility, and marshal his defense.  Belinda didn't have time, not of her own, not any more.<br/><br/>Because now it was showtime, and this audience wouldn't merely hurl rotten food if she missed a step or flubbed her lines.