“Perhaps,” echoed Judith with a quirk of the lips that expressed doubt more than hope.
“Villam was wounded?” Rosvita asked. She was beginning to wonder if Judith was toying with her for her own amusement.
“Badly, yes.” If this distressed the margrave, she did not show it. Rosvita had never much liked Judith, but the margrave had been loyal to Arnulf and then to Henry, never wavering in her support. She was not an easy woman to like, yet neither could she be dismissed. She was far too powerful for that. “Because Villam was wounded, Liutgard was able to take Sabella into her custody.”
“Ah.” This explained much. “I suppose that did not sit well with Henry.”
“It did not. That was what they argued about. Henry demanded that Liutgard surrender Sabella into his custody. Liutgard told him she would not until Henry was calmer and more able to think clearly.”
“Ai, Lady,” murmured Rosvita. “That was rashly spoken of her. She might have found more diplomatic words.”
“Diplomacy is for courtiers and counselors, my dear cleric, not for princes. I have never found Liutgard possessed of subtlety in any case. You know Burchard’s son is dead?”
“Burchard’s son?” What had the Duke of Avaria and his children to do with this? The subject changed so quickly, and before Rosvita was done understanding the last one, that she did not follow the leap. Liutgard had married the duke of Avaria’s second son, Frederic, but he had died several years ago.
Judith sighed ostentatiously, examined her fingernails for traces of blood or other detritus of armed struggle, and allowed the servant to dry her hands on a clean linen cloth. Then with a gesture she dismissed the servant. “Sabella seems determined to take the men of that line with her in her defeats, though she cares not one whit for them. I speak of Burchard’s elder son, Agius, the one who went into the church.”
Judith related a rather confused tale of the guivre, the frater, and a boy who had led Count Lavastine’s hounds to the kill.
“You are going too quickly for me,” said Rosvita. “I do not know what part Count Lavastine has in this battle. The last I heard of him, he had refused Henry’s command to attend him on his progress. That was almost a year ago.”
“He turned up at the battle on Sabella’s side.” Judith paused and brushed a finger along her upper lip where a fine down of hair grew, the mark of her impending passage from fertility to wisdom. “But that is the strange thing: he withdrew his forces from the battle halfway through.”
“After the guivre was killed, when he saw which way the wind was blowing?”
“No. Before that, when it appeared all was lost for Henry and that Sabella would win. No one can explain it, since Lavastine and his men have fled.”
At long last, Rosvita was beginning to see where all this led. “What of Henry and Sabella?”
“We are at a stalemate there, it appears. Liutgard refuses to turn Sabella over to Henry, and Henry rages, as you can see.”
“Have you attempted to intervene, my lady?”
“I?” Judith smiled.
That smile. It was that particular smile, one Judith was famous for, that made Rosvita not like her, although she had no other good reason. The margrave of Olsatia and Austra was loyal to the house of Saony, had pledged her loyalty first to the younger Arnulf and then after his death to Henry. But Rosvita did not believe any affection or deep bond held her to them. Rosvita believed Judith remained loyal to Henry because she needed him and what he could bring her: his military support. The position of prince in the marchlands, the unstable border country, was a precarious one, and Judith had called on—and received—aid from Henry more than once.
o;Which one was that?”
“Henry’s argument with Duchess Liutgard.”
Rosvita did not know Duchess Liutgard well—the young duchess came to court rarely—but she did know that Liutgard possessed the fabled temper that had, so the chroniclers wrote, marred the reign of her great-great-aunt, Queen Conradina, a woman fabled for having as many arguments as lovers and both in abundance. “Why should the king argue with Liutgard?”
Judith found a stain of blood under one fingernail and beckoned to a servant. The servingwoman hastened over and washed the margrave’s hands while she talked. “Liutgard rode beside Villam when Sabella’s guard was overtaken. They fought loyally—”
“Liutgard and Villam?”
Judith smiled, but there was a hint of derision in her expression. “That is not what I meant. Sabella’s retinue fought loyally and many were slain before the fight was given up. Rodulf died there.”
“Duke Rodulf? That is grievous news.”
“He fought for Varre, as he has always done. More for Varre, I would suppose, than for Sabella. Alas, he could not bring himself to accept a Wendish king.”
“Perhaps his heirs will be more reasonable.”
“Perhaps,” echoed Judith with a quirk of the lips that expressed doubt more than hope.
“Villam was wounded?” Rosvita asked. She was beginning to wonder if Judith was toying with her for her own amusement.