In the Ruins (34 page)

Henry is dead, murdered by his own son
.

Adelheid turned. “What must I do, Sister Venia? I had this report from an Aostan lord who saw Henry fall. Prince Sanglant has claimed the Wendish throne for himself although he is only a bastard and thereby has no right to take it. The Wendish folk have deserted us. The Aostan lords and ladies have fled to their castles, those who survived. The plain of Dar has been swallowed by the Enemy. Darre itself is a ruin. No one can live there. The western coast has burst into flame. The mountains spew fire. So we are punished for our sins. The nobles will strike against me. Already they blame me for what they term ‘the Wendish folly.’ Those who were once my allies have deserted me.”

Antonia smiled. At long last, God had answered her, as she had always expected Them to do. “Do not fear, Your Majesty. God are testing us. Through our actions, we will reveal our true natures. Then They will separate the wicked from the righteous. Anoint me as skopos, and I will set all to right.”

“How can I anoint you, Sister,” the queen asked bitterly, “when I have no allies and no army and you have no chair?”

“It is true I have no chair, but I possess the skopos’ robes and scepter, which were abandoned by Holy Mother Anne. She did not respect God as she ought. Earthly concerns stained her, so she forgot what was due her position as God’s shepherd on Earth.”

“Perhaps. But all fell out as she predicted. The Lost Ones have had their revenge, and we survive in the ruins of their triumph.”

“We are not yet ruined, Your Majesty. Be strong. I have one other thing Anne left behind.” She crossed into her chamber. After a servingwoman helped her into a robe, she waved the woman out of the room and turned to her wooden storage chest. She had bound a burning spell into the lock in the form of an amulet identical to that Anne had used in the palace in Darre: wolfsbane, lavender, and thistle. Tracing a sign, she murmured the words of unbinding and protection before teasing apart the amulet and unlocking and opening the chest. She dug beneath layers of silk and linen and returned to the other room.

Adelheid had not moved, although by now day was rising and the servants had extinguished the lamps.

Two stewards entered, the second waiting as the first whispered to Lady Lavinia, who nodded.

“Very good, Veralia. Have the guards bring the prisoners to the courtyard. I’ll be out in a moment.” As the first steward hurried out, Lavinia bent her head to hear the message brought by the second, then turned to Adelheid. “Your Majesty, if you will attend me, there is water now for a bath and clean robes to change into. A meal to be served and wine to drink.”

Adelheid did not move.

“I must go out for a moment, Your Highness,” Lavinia continued, looking anxious when Adelheid did not respond. “My soldiers scout the countryside every day, seeking refugees. Enemies. Allies. We cast a wide net, and now and again catch a handsome fish. Few march as boldly to our walls as you did.”

Lavinia faltered as Antonia shook her head, enjoining silence. Mathilda’s attendants had shoved the big table out of the way and up against a tapestry depicting the trials of triumphs of St. Agnes, the virgin whom fire refused to burn. Antonia set her burden down on this table and unwrapped the cloth covering. It gleamed in lamplight, polished and bright.

“That is Emperor Taillefer’s crown,” said Adelheid. Her expression sharpened. The fire that had refused to touch
St. Agnes, tied to the stake for refusing to offer incense to pagan gods, had leaped into Adelheid’s heart and caught there.

“Henry may be dead, Your Majesty, but his daughters live. You are still Empress, crowned and anointed.”

“I am still Empress,” she whispered, nodding.

God grant a certain light to some people that causes them therefore to draw the eye. As one watches a flame ignite in oil, Antonia watched Adelheid burn once more. The trials she had suffered had seared away her soft prettiness, but even this could not touch the core of her, which was iron.

“We must bide our time and make our plans carefully,” the queen went on. “We must seek what advantage we can. We must act quickly to build a base of support. News must go out at once that there is a new skopos. Then folk must come to us to receive your blessing.”

Perhaps she had underestimated Adelheid. Anger and suffering had honed her into a fitting weapon.

“Many will seek God’s guidance,” Antonia agreed.

“It’s true I still have an army, if Lady Lavinia can feed and house us. There are other allies who will be desperate for guidance—as you say—in this time of trouble. Frightened people seek a strong leader.” She touched each gem fixed to the seven points on the massive crown: gleaming pearl, lapis lazuli, pale sapphire, carnelian, ruby, emerald, and last of all banded orange-brown sardonyx, which represented God’s hierarchy on Earth: God, noble, commoner.

“My lady!” The first steward reappeared at the door. Veralia was stout and brisk, a good captain of the hall. “The guards have brought the new prisoners, as you instructed. They are armed, but have offered no resistance, so Captain Oswalo deemed it best not to provoke a fight. They are heavily guarded.”

Adelheid stepped forward. “What have you found, Lavinia?”

“A small band of Wendish folk, so I am told. I have already given instructions that any Wendish refugees are to
be brought to me. We know not what jewels we may find among them. Veralia?”

“They were arrested by our soldiers yesterday, on the road that leads down out of the north.”

“Wendish refugees should be fleeing
to
the north,” said Adelheid.

“Captain Oswalo wondered at first if they might be spies, but—well—you will see, my lady. Your Majesty. There is a young Wendish lord and his attendant, a cleric, a servingwoman, two barbarians, and a girl who claims to be the descendant of Emperor Taillefer.”

Indeed, a piercing, immature voice was suddenly audible to every soul in the chamber, driven in from outside by powerful lungs and delivered in Wendish.

“I
said
I don’t want to come here! I
said
it. Why does no one listen to me?”

“Perhaps because your voice is too loud,” remarked a second voice, that of a youth. Its timbre caused Antonia’s heart to race; she flushed, heat speeding to her skin.

“It has to be loud if no one can hear me!”

“Everyone can hear you, brat.”

“I’m
not
a brat. I’m not! We need to keep going south, to Darre. I have to find my father, you know that. He’s supposed to be in Darre, so that’s where we’re going. If we’d fought them to begin with, we wouldn’t be prisoners now!”

“That’s right. Because we’d all be dead. They outnumber us three to one.”

“That never stopped my father! Did it, Heribert? Did it?”

The sound of that name made her dizzy. She thought she might collapse, but she forced herself to totter forward in the wake of Lavinia and Adelheid as they sallied out the door, their curiosity piqued by the childish outburst. Adelheid began to laugh, almost sobbing.

“How came this prize to me?” she asked Lady Lavinia.

“Do you know these folk?” Lavinia asked.

Antonia caught herself on the door’s frame as she stared past Adelheid’s shoulder.

“I know the one who is most important to me,” said Adelheid.

Even Antonia, who had only seen her as an infant, recognized Sanglant’s daughter in the lanky, furious girl straining to break free of a stolid young servant woman who held her by the shoulders. Whether the girl meant to kick the youth who stood with arms crossed in front of her, alternately making irritated faces at her and measuring his captors, or whether she meant to throw herself onto Lavinia’s guards like a wild lion cub, Antonia could not tell. The servingwoman had a queer cast of skin but looked otherwise normal. There were, indeed, two barbarians, one man and one woman with dark complexions, slanted eyes, and outlandish tunics fashioned out of stiffened cloth nothing like woven wool. The woman wore an elaborate headdress. The man carried a quiver and a strung bow and seemed only to be biding his time, waiting for a signal. There was a youthful servingman as well, a callow lordling of a kind she recognized from her days as biscop in Mainni, some minor noble’s youngest son sent off to serve a higher born man.

She recognized the youth who was arguing with the princess. He had his father’s look about him; no one could mistake him for another man’s son.

But what bent her back and made her sag against the frame was the seventh in their party, dressed in well-worn cleric’s robes. A careful observer might remark on a certain resemblance between the noble youth and the once elegant cleric, but few bothered to look closely in a place where they had no expectation of reward.

The princess broke free of her servant and marched right up to Adelheid.

“Who are
you
?” she demanded, planting fists on hips as she jutted out her chin. She looked to be about twelve or thirteen years of age, which was manifestly impossible, but her behavior suggested that of a much younger child. “You’re
dirty
!”

The empress looked down on the child, not kindly. “I am the one who holds you hostage.”

“You do not!”

The barbarian archer twitched and slid a hand toward his quiver.

“Put it down, Odei,” said young Villam. “Best to see what they want before we get ourselves killed in a hopeless fight.”

The man glanced at Princess Blessing, then nodded. He served the girl, but obeyed the youth, who already possessed his father’s calm habit of command. Yet hadn’t this boy died years ago? She had a vague memory of a tale told of Villam’s youngest son vanishing beneath a stone crown. And hadn’t Sanglant’s and Liath’s baby been born only five years past? This could not be the same infant she remembered.

There was one among the prisoners who could answer her questions. One who watched without expression as the other six looked, each according to her nature, alarmed, angry, rebellious, puzzled, thoughtful, or scared.

“Now we have something Henry’s bastard son wants,” said Adelheid. “If you will, Lavinia, lock them away, but do not neglect them. These are a fine treasure. This will serve us well.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Captain, place guards in the North Tower and install them there.”

“Yes, my lady. At once.”

“Will you ransom us?” asked the youth boldly.

“If it serves my purpose,” replied Adelheid, looking him over. She nodded. “You must be Helmut Villam’s son. The resemblance is remarkable. Are you one of his by-blows? I understood he had no legitimate sons still living.”

The lad smiled, reminding Antonia even more of Villam, who had known how to use his charm to advantage. “That mystery must remain unanswered.” His pause was not quite insolent, not quite proud. “Your Majesty.”

She laughed, amused by him, liking his face and his manners, although he was still a youth and she long since a woman. Still, the gap in years was not that great. Stranger matches had happened. “Take them. I’ll have that bath, Lavinia, with thanks.”

“Go,” said Lavinia to her captain.

Antonia stumbled forward and grabbed the cleric’s sleeve as, in the confusion, he hesitated while the guards
pressed the others into the courtyard. He turned and looked at her, not appearing at all surprised to see her. In the solemn morning light, his eyes appeared more blue than hazel. A trio of guards waited to escort him while the rest dispersed. The child had begun to complain again in that irritating voice.

“I don’t want to go to the tower! I want to go to—”

“You deserted me,” Antonia said, keeping her voice low so others would not hear. Long had it festered. Until this moment, she hadn’t realized how angry he had made her. “You disobeyed me! I never gave you permission to leave me.”

“I remember you,” said Heribert in a voice not his own. “He never liked you.”

“What do I care if he liked me or not! He is a bastard, no better than a dog! It is your desertion of the one to whom you owe allegiance that offends God.”

“I acted because of what was in my heart. I loved him, but he is lost to me and I can love no other.”

She slapped him.

His face, so finely bred and once so familiar, seemed that of a stranger as he carefully drew his sleeve out of her grasp and turned to the guards. “I would follow them I know,” he said with his back to her as if she were no better than a servant. No one to whom he owed fealty. No one who mattered one whit to him.

She fell, and fell, into the Pit, into a fit of coughing furious sickening rage, but he was already beyond her and she would not make a scene with servants walking past and Captain Falco watching beside the door with rebuking curiosity.

“Are you well, Your Excellency? I pray you are not ill.”

Falco did not so pray. He distrusted her. Few could love the righteous. They envied and hated them instead.

But her son. Her own son, for whom she had sacrificed so much!

Heribert would be punished, of course. Did it not state in the Holy Verses that children were commanded to respect and honor their mothers and fathers, or else be stoned to death?

Yet Heribert was weak. She knew that because she had raised him to be weak and compliant. It was the bastard, the false one, the enemy—Prince Sanglant—who had corrupted him.

Therefore, it was Sanglant who had to fall.

PART THREE