The Gathering Storm (43 page)

“
Who are you
?”

She jumped to her feet, leaping back from the chasm.

There was no one there. No one in sight. Only silence.
Snick
.

The voice had spoken in Aostan, so she replied as well as she could after so many months in Darre. “I am called Hanna. Here I come with Sister Rosvita and her companions. We flee her enemies. I pray you, help us.”

“
Who is Sister Rosvita
?”

She gritted her teeth in frustration, until she realized that the question might be a test. “She is a cleric from Wendar. She is counselor to King Henry. She protected and counseled the king, but she made enemies, whom she now flees. I pray you, we do not have time.”

“How may one know Sister Rosvita? What is her life’s work?”

“To serve the king as well as she is able!” cried Hanna, exasperated.

Snick
.

Think as a cleric thought, as a churchwoman might think. Act as Sister Heriburg had acted, when they had fled from Darre in the aftermath of the earthquake.

“A book! A history of the princes of Wendar. She has it with her still!”

Snick
.

A grinding noise reverberated in the enclosed space. The blank wall beyond the ditch shifted and rolled to open a gap through which a slight figure slipped. Hanna faced across the pit an emaciated, corpse-white woman wearing the tattered robes of a nun, her sleeves pushed back to reveal wiry arms. She shoved the plank out across the chasm, balancing it deftly until the far end rested on Hanna’s side.

“I am called Sister Hilaria. We live hidden deep within the rock now, since the day the daimone attacked us. It takes all of our strength to guard our prisoner and nurse our Holy Mother. We have turned our backs on the outside world. It was the pebble that alerted me while I was fetching water. I came at once to investigate. Follow me, friend. If we are to save Sister Rosvita, we must hurry.”

GERULF’S traitor surveyed them with princely dignity and a keen gaze, although her eyes flared when she caught sight of Baldwin, kneeling to Ivar’s right. But a prince of her stature could not be cowed even by Baldwin’s singular loveliness. “You have been brought to Autun accused of heresy and implicated in matters of sorcery. Yet you have nothing to fear from me. The truth is welcome here in Arconia.”

She paused, expecting a response; perhaps she was curious
to see who would emerge as the leader. Ivar waited, too, until he realized that the rest were waiting for him to speak.

“Your Highness,” he said, stumbling over the words. “I—I am Ivar, son of Count Harl and Lady Herlinda of the North Mark—”

“I know who you are.” She gave an amused grunt. “I haven’t forgotten the trial of Judith of Austra’s bastard son Hugh a few years back, nor your part in it. It was one of the few entertaining days I had during my confinement here in Autun. I believe you must be related to Sister Rosvita, my brother Henry’s favored cleric. Ah!” She looked up expectantly as a big man strode up onto the dais, attended by a handsome, shapely girl of eleven or twelve years of age. She had dark skin but unexpectedly light golden-brown hair, a contrast that reminded him bitterly of Liath although there was otherwise no resemblance.

“My lord duke,” said Captain Ulric with rather more warmth than he’d shown to the lady. “My lady Ælfwyn.”

“God Above!” swore the duke as he sank down into the left-hand chair, leaving the middle seat empty. The girl stood behind him, holding onto the back of the chair while she examined the prisoners with bold intensity. “So this is the infamous bridegroom who escaped Judith’s clutches!” A pair of brindle hounds swarmed up after him, licking his hands before collapsing worshipfully at his feet.

“No wonder the margrave was so furious,” mused the lady prince. She had a strong face. Her silver hair had been braided and dressed with ribbons, but she wore it uncovered in the manner of an unmarried maiden or a soldier. She gestured toward Ivar. “Come, Lord Ivar, you were speaking before Duke Conrad arrived. Go on.”

Conrad the Black could not be mistaken for any other man in the kingdom. And although Henry had many sisters, only two were older than he was: his bastard half sister Alberada, who served as biscop in the east, and the woman who had already contested his authority once by leading a rebellion against him.

“My lady Sabella,” said Ivar, inclining his head to show respect. “We are not heretics. It is the church which has concealed the truth. Can it be possible you have heard and
accepted the true Word of God and the truth of the blessed Daisan’s sacrifice and redemption?”

Her attention had wandered back to Baldwin. “If report is true,” she said absently, “you were all novices at Quedlinhame.”

“So we were, Your Highness, but we were punished for preaching the true Word. We escaped those who tormented us. Now we walk as best we can to spread the true Word to all those who live in the night of lies and deceit.”

“Then let them preach,” said Conrad impatiently as he rubbed the head of one of his hounds. He glanced up to mark his daughter, and her serious expression immediately melted into a charming grin, a comrade marking her best companion in her battle against the world. He winked merrily at her before turning back to address Sabella. “Let them preach. We were just about to ride out to hunt when you sent for me.”

“Let us preach?” breathed Sigfrid, forgetting that Ivar was their spokesman.

“Let you preach?” said Sabella with a smile obviously intended for Baldwin. “Here in Varre, all are welcome to preach according to their knowledge of the sacrifice and redemption.”

Baldwin seemed struck dumb.

“We are?” squeaked Ermanrich, as Hathumod sighed happily.

“Yes, yes, you are,” said Conrad, tapping a foot on the floor as he lounged back in the chair. His hounds whined and thumped their tails anxiously, catching his mood. “If there’s no other business that needs my attention, Cousin, then I’ll go.”

“Nay, nay, Cousin. Wait a moment, if you please. You see there behind our novices two fighting men, who report has it are Lions, deserted from my brother.”

“Deserters?” Conrad straightened. “I’ve never heard of Lions deserting their regnant. What complaint have you against King Henry?”

“No complaint!” declared Gerulf stoutly. “Nor have we deserted. We marched east to fight the Quman and came temporarily under Prince Bayan’s command.”

“Yet you are not in the east now,” observed Conrad. “How goes the campaign there?”

Gerulf glanced at Ivar, unsure how to respond, but Ivar motioned him forward to stand before Conrad as a messenger. “We have no more recent news than you do, my lord duke. Prince Bayan and Princess Sapientia met the Quman begh Bulkezu on the field of battle beyond the eastern borderlands, and it went badly for them. The Quman are many, and we are few. The Wendish forces desperately need reinforcements or the Quman will overrun the marchlands. That is all we know.”

“Yet two years ago Prince Sanglant defeated this same Prince Bulkezu outside Osterburg, on the Veser River,” commented Conrad. “Or so we heard. Rumor says Prince Sanglant rode east after the battle, to what purpose I cannot say.”

“I hear he means to rebel against Henry,” said Sabella. “Yet how can it be called rebellion when Henry is more interested in his Aostan queen and her lands than in those he claims already to rule?”

“We’ve had no news since the battle Prince Bayan and Princess Sapientia lost to the Quman,” said Ivar.

“Let it be said plainly,” said Conrad. “Henry has married the Aostan queen and remains in Aosta to restore Adelheid’s throne to her, and to play his own games with his dream of Taillefer’s empire. If he chooses to turn his back on his own lands, then he must not be surprised if others choose to rule for him here.”

No sudden death knell tolled from Taillefer’s chapel. No hush dropped like the stench of the grave over the assembly. These words surprised no one except the seven prisoners who had so recently come into town.

“You’re rebelling against King Henry’s authority,” said Ivar, knowing he sounded idiotic.

“Nay, child,” said Sabella. “Henry abandoned us. We are simply caring for those he left behind. I pray you, consider what it means to you that Conrad and I now serve as regents in the kingdom of Varre. You may preach freely. None shall attempt to stop you, excommunicate you, or punish you. Is that not more than you could have expected under Henry’s rule?”

Gerulf muttered angry words under his breath, and Ivar calmed the old Lion by laying a hand on his arm. “Truly, it is more than we expected. We expected to be brought to trial before Biscop Constance on the charge of heresy.”

“Biscop Constance no longer rules here,” said Sabella, while Conrad shifted restlessly. “You are safe from her.”

It was too much to take in all at once. Could it actually be possible that they had found a refuge where they could serve God in peace? “Who do you rule as regent for, if not King Henry?”

“Ah.” The exclamation had no joy in it, nor even as much respectful anticipation as she’d shown when Conrad made his entrance. Conrad rose. Sabella did not. “I am glad you saw fit to interrupt your prayers, Daughter.”

Many times Ivar had glimpsed her holy presence through the gap in the fence in the novices’ courtyard in Quedlinhame. There she had dressed in sackcloth and ashes. Now she was arrayed in queenly robes made rich with gold thread embroidered in the shape of leaping roes.
She
it was who had brought the truth to them all. Her wheat-colored hair shone with health, and her thin face had filled out. Even her fingers, once nothing more than skin stretched over bone, had fat on them.

As she moved to touch Duke Conrad’s hand in a gesture of anxious affection, one could see why she was noticeably plumper than she had been at Quedlinhame when she had scourged her earthly body with fasting and hair shirts in order to prove her holiness.

Lady Tallia was far gone in pregnancy.

Hathumod leaped to her feet with a wild look on her normally mild face. “Liar! Fraud! I saw the nail you abused yourself with. I know with what lies the Enemy tempted you, and how you turned your back on the very one who showed you honor. And now this!
This
! You betrayed every holy promise you made to him—”

Ermanrich grabbed his cousin and wrestled her down, although she fought him, so in the grip of this unlooked-for frenzy that she seemed unaware of everything around her. It was already too late.

Tallia shrieked hysterically, hiccuping cries interspersed
with bleating moans that made Ivar want to slap her if only it would shut her up.

“For God’s sake,” said Sabella, “control yourself, Tallia.”

“I can’t! I don’t care! I won’t have her here. She betrayed me when I needed her! She abandoned me! Everything she says is a lie. She’s an evil, wicked woman—”

Conrad rose with the massive grace of a bull and slapped Tallia right across the face. His young daughter winced at the sound, but her lips pulled tight with satisfaction. Tallia stopped screaming so quickly that Ivar flinched, thinking she might drop dead on the spot, but instead she started sniveling. Conrad put an arm around her.

“Hush, Tallia.” He sounded as disgusted as might a man who, receiving a prized pup from the regnant, discovers that it has a habit of peeing in the bed. “Calm down. What is it you wish?”

Tallia shuddered and, finally, gazed up into his face with a look as abjectly worshipful as that of his hounds. Remarkably, after all that wailing and moaning, her eyes were dry. “She’s an evil, wicked woman.” Ivar recalled her voice so clearly from Quedlinhame. Who else spoke in such pure and monotonously zealous tones? That voice, the stigmata that had miraculously appeared on her hands, and the miracle of the rose; these had whipped him into the arms of heresy. But it was her voice more than anything that had driven like a spike into his heart. “An evil, wicked,
wicked
woman.”

“So you said,” observed Conrad. “What’s that to do with us?”

“She lied about the nail!” shrieked Hathumod, breaking free of Ermanrich’s grip. “God never came to her and tore her hands. She did it to herself! She’s the broken vessel that the Enemy cast down upon this Earth to harm God’s holy messenger—!” Then Ermanrich had her again, this time with Dedi’s help, because she was writhing and fighting and ready to fall into a frothing fit. Ivar had never imagined that Hathumod, soft little rabbit that she resembled, could contain so much fury. And he had a bad feeling that it was unwise to insult a great prince’s daughter so publicly.

“Take that madwoman out of here,” said Sabella coolly. “I won’t have my court disturbed in this way.”

“Nay, let me go with her,” pleaded Ermanrich. “She’s my cousin. There’s no harm in her—”

“Go!” commanded Sabella. “Ai, God! Take the others, too.”

“Kill them!” shrieked Tallia, cowering in the shelter of Conrad’s massive arm. “Kill them! Just kill them!” She began to sob, and as the guards jerked Ivar roughly away, he heard her mutter, “No one must ever know.”

“An execution might serve to keep the troops in line, those who aren’t sure of their loyalty,” remarked Sabella.

“Stop there at once!” barked Conrad.

Captain Ulric halted the line of prisoners. He had the look of a good soldier, the kind who doesn’t make mistakes because he’s slack. His men regarded Conrad with respect as the duke continued speaking. “I will not be party to slaughtering two innocent Lions. I hate wasting good soldiers.”

“And indeed,” remarked Sabella as she studied Baldwin, “it would be a shame to put an end to such beauty.”

“I haven’t seen his ‘end,’” said Conrad, laughing now as his arm tightened warningly around Tallia, “but I’m sure you’d find it to your taste, Cousin.”

“So I might.” Sabella’s smile made Ivar shiver. “What of the others?”

“You must kill them. You must!” sobbed Tallia. She lifted her pale gaze to her husband’s dark face. “You know how much I love you, Conrad. Wouldn’t you do it for me?”

She faltered. Maybe she was just smart enough not to want an answer to that question. Her thin lips curved down in a cunning frown as she shook off his arm and stepped forward.