Crown of Stars (Crown of Stars 7)

o;I have made my choice,” said Scholastica. Her face was white, and she groped for a cup of wine and drained it in one gulp. “Let messengers be sent. Now, I think we are done here.”

A tall, hawk-nosed Eagle crossed into the hall through the main doors, walked up to Rosvita, whispered in her ear, and retreated. Rosvita glanced toward Alain, and then raised a hand before Mother Scholastica could, by rising, call a halt to the conclave.

“That leaves only the question of the dead. Both Lady Sabella and Princess Sapientia were taken away last night by stewards and servants to be washed in preparation for their last journey.”

The man who had been pacing by the hearth stepped forward. “I am a faithful servant in Lady Sabella’s schola. We are only waiting now for the wagon and horses to be brought and her escort to be assembled. Best we leave right away. In summer, the flesh rots quickly. The lady must be buried in Autun, laid to rest beside her mother and her uncle—the last heirs of Varre.”

“Sapientia will go to Quedlinhame,” said Scholastica, “to be buried by her father’s ancestors, as is fitting.”

“What of Sanglant?” asked Rosvita.

“None dare touch him,” said Scholastica in a cruel voice, “for fear of his mother’s curse.”

“Many men wait outside who fear no such thing,” snapped Constance. Hathumod wiped her brow with a cloth, and after a moment the biscop went on. “But I would ask to hear the testimony of the holy mother who has sat beside his body throughout the last night.”

An ancient woman shuffled forward out of the shadows, held upright on either side by two nuns, women so thin they seemed more like cords of strong rope. She was so frail and bent that it was remarkable she could stand; a breath of wind might topple her. Age has its own authority. Even Mother Scholastica gave way before her, rising with every evidence of sincere respect to allow the old woman to sit in her chair.

Just as a child’s face hints at the adult visage to come, so the most aged and wrinkled bear in their face a memory of their youth. He saw her full in the light as she settled into the chair, and about the eyes and chin marked the family resemblance.

Heart-struck like a mute beast, his eyes swam with tears. His breath caught as in a cage so that he had to remember to breathe. His hands tingled. For an instant he felt himself weightless, as if his feet were no longer touching earth.

She spoke in a voice strangely powerful, corning from such a fragile, tiny frame. “I have sat vigil this night beside the body, for the sake of my granddaughter, as she would have done herself were she here. These are my observations. When I press a hand to his chest or against his throat, I feel no beat of his heart. No blood pulses from his open wounds. No breath eases from his lips or nostrils. A man cannot live whose heart is silent, and who has no breath. He is surely dead. Yet he does not stiffen or putrefy. He smells of rose water, as though he were but freshly washed. I swear to you that his wounds are healing, knitting and closing in a manner most unnatural.”

“Sorcery!” declared Scholastica. “So the curse remains, although his spirit is fled. This is the work of a maleficus, or of daimones out of the upper air. I say he shall be carted to Gent, where he ought to have died but did not. There is a crypt there that might hold him.”

Rosvita glanced again toward Alain, but she did not address him or otherwise indicate that she knew he was there and ought to be acknowledged. “Take him west, along the northern path,” she said, when he did not speak. “I will escort his body, if you will allow it.”

“West?” said Constance. “Why west?”

“What plot is afoot?” demanded Scholastica.

“I will attend the body as well,” said the old woman, “as is my right because of my kinship to this man.”

“Your kinship?” Respect for age was all very well, but Mother Scholastica had clearly swallowed her moment of humility and could endure no more. “Mother Obligatia, I pray you, forgive my bold speaking to a woman of your age and authority. But you are fled from your convent in Aosta and come to take refuge here in Wendar. What kinship do you speak of?” She looked accusingly at Rosvita. “Is there something I have not been told?”

Rosvita opened the topmost book of the three on her lap.

At long last, it was time.

Making ready to step forward, to fulfill his oath, Alain turned to command the hounds to accompany him.

Only to find that after all they had escaped him. He looked around, and saw Sorrow’s hindquarters vanish as the hound scuttled out the door. Rage had already fled. Aestan and ?agor stuck their heads out into the courtyard, staring after the hounds, and then ducked back in again. Aestan was scratching his beard in confusion. ?agor gestured to Alain, to alert him, and then both soldiers vanished outside.

Alain hurried after them, but the hounds had truly bolted and no one was willing to call them to heel. They had really run this time. He could not keep up with them as they raced down into Kassel town, out the gates, and loped east along the Hellweg.

He followed as well as he could, unwilling to give up their trail. At length an escort of riders caught up with him on the road, with spare horses, and he saw behind them a score of Eika soldiers trotting along at their own tireless jog.

These were powerful reinforcements, but even so, a man must pause to catch breath now and again, eat a slice of bread and cheese when he has not eaten since the day before, and take a drink. Horses must have water. Men muttered that those hounds were demon-get, surely, for how else could their unnatural stamina be explained?

In the end, it took him until midday to catch them, far east along the Hellweg in the midst of forest, but only one sharp word to bring them slinking and shamed to heel.

6

THE stockade surrounding Hersford Monastery had been built to keep wild animals out and livestock in. The gates could not sustain an assault by armed forces, but they were closed nevertheless when Liath limped up the road and halted beyond arrow range. The exertions of the previous day had caused her thigh wound to flare with pain. It was not fully healed. Maybe, with poison scarring the tissue, it would never fully heal.

Anna was her sole attendant. The servant held on to the staff as though it was the only thing that kept her walking.

Folk lined the stockade wall, armed with staves, scythes, sharpened staffs, shovels, and a trio of pitchforks. Beyond the monastic buildings, storm clouds piled up along the eastern horizon but with the wind at her back, she was safe from their rain for now.