Elliott, Kate - Crown of Stars 1 (38 page)

" 'For the truth shall make us free,' " finished Theophanu.

Sapientia burst into noisy sobs of thwarted anger and fled the garden. From a half-hidden bench a maidservant jumped up and followed her inside.

"I am not sure it is wise to bait your sister in this fashion."

"If she would only think before she speaks
— " Theophanu broke off, turned, and took several steps forward to greet the man who emerged at that moment into the courtyard. Like the two young women, he wore a gold torque, braids of solid gold twisted into a three-quarters circle, around his neck. Theophanu knelt. "Father."

He laid a hand on her dark hair.

Rosvita knelt as well. "Your Majesty."

"You must rise, my most valued cleric," said the king. "I have an errand for you, which I am assured only you can accomplish."

Rosvita rose and faced King Henry. As a young man he had been, like his elder daughter, rash at times; now, as always these days, he wore a grave expression that contrasted well with the bright lights of his silvering hair. "I am your servant, Your Majesty." She could not quite restrain a smile. "Your praise honors me."

"No more than it should, my friend. You will indulge me, I hope, by carrying out this errand at once."

gli "Of course."

"Father Bardo tells me there is a hermit, a holy monk, who lives in a cell in the hills above the monastery. He is old and was once, I am told, a scholar."

Despite herself, Rosvita felt her heart beat faster. An old man, and a scholar as well! Always there were new things to be discovered from the testimony of such people.

"He is known to be well versed in the 'laws of the Emperor Taillefer, to have knowledge of capitularies of those times that have been lost to us. But he is reluctant to break his contemplation, so says Father Bardo."

"Then ought we to ask him to break his contemplation, Your Majesty?"

"There are some things I need to know about inheritance." His tone, barely, betrayed agitation. Theophanu looked up sharply at her father, but said nothing. "As for you, Rosvita, Father Bardo says this holy monk has heard of your work compiling a history of the Wendish people for my blessed mother and might be willing to speak with you. Perhaps his curiosity outweighs his serenity." He said it with the secular lord's fine disregard for the pursuits of those sworn to the church.

Or his meditations on the Lady's and Lord's Holy Works had not yet quieted his passion for learning.
But Rosvita did not voice this thought out loud.

"You are thinking the same thing," said the king, with a smile.

"I am, indeed."

"Then you must speak your mind freely in front of me, or how else will I benefit from your wise counsel?"

Now, Rosvita did smile. She had always liked Henry, as much as one allowed oneself to
like
the heir and later king; in recent years, however, as he had drawn her more tightly into his orbit, she had also come to respect him. "Then I must ask you if there is some certain thing you are hoping to discover from such an interview."

The king lifted his hand from Theophanu's head and glanced around the courtyard. Behind a hedge of cypress, Rosvita saw two courtiers waiting in discreet attendance: One, the elder man, was Helmut Villam, the king's constant companion and most trusted adviser; the other was hidden by the leaves.

"Where is your sister?" Henry said to his daughter. "I was told the two of you walked here together."

"She has gone inside."

"If you will wait, then, with Villam, I would have you come riding with me."

"I will attend you, Father." She rose and retreated obediently to stand with the others. Rosvita caught a glimpse of Berthold Villam. Evidently he had slipped out after her to find out what all the fuss was about. The other person in attendance, now visible, was the formidable Judith, margrave of Olsatia and Austra. Behind the margrave hovered several servants.

The spring sun, glaringly hot in the enclosed garden of stone and hedge and roses, suddenly vanished, cloaked by a cloud.

"You know what is whispered," said Henry. "What none of them will say aloud."

The dukes and margraves, counts and biscops and clerics and courtiers who populated the king's progress spoke freely and volubly of the great concerns of the day: Would Henry's sister Sabella break into open revolt against him? Was this to be a summer of raids along the northern coast, or would the Eika land, as was rumored, with an army? What did the skopos in Darre mean to do about the whispers of heresy taking root inside the church?

But on one subject they were silent, or spoke in circles that surrounded but never touched the heart of the issue. In the terrible arguments that had raged yesterday afternoon and in the tense feast that had followed, where whispers and glances continued the dispute, one name had not been spoken so that it could be heard.

"Sanglant," she said, pronouncing it in the Salian way:
sahnglawnt.

"And what is it they say about Sanglant?"

"They speak not of Sanglant but of you. They say your sentiment has overreached your reason. They say it is time to send Sapientia on her progress so she may be judged worthy or unworthy of being named as your heir. And if not Sapientia, then Theophanu."

"Theophanu is not as well liked."

"Not in general, no."

"Yet she is the more capable, Rosvita."

"It is not my place to judge such matters."

"Then whose is it?" He sounded impatient now.

"It is yours, Your Majesty. Such is the burden laid on the sovereign king by Our Lady and Lord."

He arched one eyebrow; for an instant she saw how much Theophanu resembled him, in wit and intelligence if not feature. The church bell began to toll, calling the monks to the service of Sext. She smelled charcoal in the air and the stench of meat being seared over hot coals in preparation for roasting and the night's feast. After a long pause, Henry spoke again. "What do they say about Sanglant?"

Better to tell him the truth he already knew but chose, out of sentiment, to ignore. "That he is a bastard, Your Majesty. That he is not a true man. Whatever other fine qualities he certainly has, and which are fully acknowledged, can never compensate for his birth and his mother's blood." She hesitated, then went on. "Nor ought they to."

He looked annoyed but he did not respond at once. The bell fell into silence; she heard the whisper of monks' robes as the last stragglers made their way to the chapel within the cloister where they would pray.

"I will attend service," he said. "But you will visit the hermit nevertheless, Rosvita. And you will discover whether this holy monk knows of precedent for a child born to a concubine or other unofficial union being named as heir."

His voice dropped even as he said the fateful words. Only she heard them. But surely every man and woman who followed along on the king's progress knew what was in his mind: that his eldest child, the bastard son of an Aoi woman who had emerged from unknown lands to enchant the young Henry on his heir's progress, was and always had been his favorite, though he had three legitimate children by Queen Sophia who were each possessed of a sound mind and body.

She caught a glimpse in his face then of an ancient longing, a passion never extinguished, never fulfilled. But quickly it was covered by the mask of stone worn by the king.

"I will do as you ask, Your Majesty," she said, and bowed her head to the inevitable. Although surely nothing good could come of this obsession.

THE DRAGONS

TEN
days after leaving Heart's Rest, Liath sat on the old stone wall and enjoyed the spring sun. She was tired, but not overly so; free of Hugh, she had recovered her strength quickly.

This moment of respite she used to study the layout of the holding of Steleshame: the dye vats sheltered under a lean-to; the henhouse; two cauldrons spitting with boiling water attended by three women who stirred wool cloth as it shrank; felters at work in the sun; two of the blacksmith's boys linking tiny iron rings into mail; furs stretched and strung to cure.

Here, within the large courtyard protected by a palisade of wood, lay the remains of an older structure. The Eagles had thrown up an outpost and used the old dressed stone to build a tower for defense. The householder and her relatives lived in a timber longhouse, and the stables were also built of wood. Only the skeleton of the old fort was left, straight lines squared to the equinoxes and the solstices, the map of the sun. She could trace these bones with her eyes, and read, here and there, inscriptions in old Dariyan cut into the stone by the soldiers and craftsman who had inhabited this place long ago.

Lucian loves the red-haired woman.

Estephanos owes Julia eight quiniones.

Let it be known that this outpost has been erected by the order ofArki-kai Tangashuan, under the auspices of the Most Exalted Empress Thaissania, she of the mask.

Liath knelt to wipe dirt from this last inscription, graven into a block of stone half sunk in the ground next to the watering trough. For how many years had it lain here, trampled by horses and cattle, scoured by wind and dust, drenched by rain? She coughed, sucking in a mouthful of dust blown up by a gust of wind. Her fingers, scraping, reached beaten earth; the inscription extended farther yet, buried in the ground.

" 'She of the mask,' " said Wolfhere, behind her. "The heathen empress before whom the blessed Daisan stood without fear and proclaimed the Holy Word and the saving Mercy of the Lady and Lord of Unities."

Surprised, Liath bolted up unsteadily. Wolfhere smiled, a baring of teeth.

"Do not deny you can read it, child. Both your father and mother were church educated, and when you were but six years of age you could read old Dariyan texts with the skill of a scholar bred in the convent."

"Surely not," she blurted out, embarrassed.

His smile now seemed less forced. "Not with the skill of an adult perhaps, but astonishing in one so young. Come, now. There is an armory here, and we must find you weapons that are suitable. Mistress Gisela's niece is sewing borders on new cloaks for you and Hanna."

Hanna was already at the tower, trying the weight of swords. She handled the weapons awkwardly. They had traveled for ten days and during that time Hathui and Manfred had tested Liath and Hanna in swordcraft and found them sorely wanting.

"Eagles are not soldiers," Hathui was saying to Hanna as Liath and Wolfhere paused at the heavy iron-ribbed door that led into the round chamber at the base of the tower. "But you must know how to defend yourself against bandits and the king's enemies. Ai! What
do
you know how to do, woman?"

"I can milk a cow, make butter and cheese," puffed Hanna, "feed twenty travelers a good meal, chop wood, build a fire, salt and smoke meat, ret and spin flax
—

Hathui laughed, lowering her sword. She was not winded. "Enough! Enough!" The two women had been sparring, circling while Manfred used a staff to fend off the stray children and dogs and chickens which infested the yard. "The Lady honors those who are chatelaine to a hearth, for is She not Herself Chatelaine to us all? But you're hamfisted with the sword, Hanna. Manfred, give her a spear." He obliged, and Hanna had only time to look longingly toward Liath
—as if to say "/
wish you were here and I there at the door"
—before she handed him the sword and took up the spear.

"This is like a staff." Hanna settled her hands into a comfortable grip on the haft. She tried a few whacks at the stout post sunk in the ground in the middle of the yard. To Liath's surprise, Hanna grinned suddenly. "Thancmar and I have crossed staves a few times. When we were younger, we sparred with staves to pass the time while we were out with the sheep."

Hathui did not look impressed. "When you've learned to handle a spear on horseback, you'll be able to boast. But an Eagle unhorsed in bad company is most likely a dead Eagle. What the sheep admired will do you little good here."

Hanna only laughed. "I have ridden hard for ten days and not given up, although the Lady alone knows the blisters I have, and where I have them! I can learn this, too, by Our Lord."

"And you'll still have to learn swordcraft, even so," continued Hathui as if Hanna hadn't spoken. The hawk-nosed woman still looked dour, but there was almost a smile on her face.

"Come inside," said Wolfhere.

Liath ducked under the lintel, built low as an added means of protection, and immediately sneezed. She wiped watering eyes and blinked as Wolfhere lit a brand and searched back into the far shadows of the chamber. Everything was neatly stored away here: sacks of onions and carrots; baskets of beans and peas and apples; jars of oil; wooden barrels of chops packed in lard. Something had gone rancid. Beyond the foodstores of the householder lay five chests closed with hasps of iron. One was inlaid with brass lions. This one Wolfhere opened. The hinges were well oiled, opening without a squeak.

Liath picked her way across to him, once stepping on something that squashed under her boot and sent up the sickly sweet scent of rotting fruit. A fly buzzed in her ear.

"Hathui notes you are adept at knife-fighting, which skill I suppose you picked up from your father Bernard as you traveled. I believe there is an old sword here, still serviceable. It was recovered from the fort."