They strolled away together. Was that Ivar in their wake, looking as sullen as a dried-up frog? She had not been allowed to speak to Ivar, who was under a novice’s vows, but perhaps that was for the best. When Judith and her retinue returned east, he would be safely confined to a monastery, where labor, study, and prayer would circumscribe his day and leave him little time to dwell on that which was forbidden him.
the garden a magnificent vista opened before them. The land spread out as fields and villages, pastureland and scrub brush and woodland, and finally the distant march of forest. The river wound south, a ribbon vanishing into the haze of trees.
From the gravel path, Rosvita watched as Duke Conrad’s entourage reached the branching road and his banners turned south. From this distance, she could only guess which figure was his.
Was Conrad thinking about Theophanu? Did he truly regret that Henry had forbidden the match, or was his anger for the insult implicit in Henry’s refusal?
Did Theophanu regret the lost chance for a betrothal, or was she relieved? Rosvita could not tell. Another person might rage, or sulk, or weep. Theophanu either did not have the heart for it, or concealed her heart too well.
“Theophanu!”
Prince Ekkehard marched down a path at the head of a gaggle of boys. The schola had only arrived in Werlida yesterday.
“Are you happy to see Conrad go?” demanded Ekkehard as he scrambled onto the stonework beside Theophanu. “I wanted to go with him to Wayland, but Father says I’m to go to Gent and become abbot of the monastery he means to establish there dedicated to St. Perpetua in thanks for Sanglant’s rescue. But I don’t want to go to Gent and certainly not just because Father is so mad that Sanglant ran away with that woman. I don’t know why he’s punishing me for what Sanglant did.” Ekkehard talked more than he thought. But perhaps he had stumbled on the heart of the matter nevertheless: the change in Henry’s behavior that had come about since the morning they had all risen to discover Sanglant and Liath gone.
Theophanu’s inscrutable smile did not change as she answered. “He isn’t punishing you, Ekkehard. He’s giving you authority of your own. Remember that we are royal children. Father will use us as he sees fit, to strengthen the kingdom.”
Was there a trace of irony in her voice? Even sarcasm? Rosvita could not be sure.
The gates into the garden opened again, and their quiet contemplation was completely overset as the king and his courtiers entered in the wake of Ekkehard. The chatter of the mob irritated Rosvita. What had happened to unbalance her equilibrium? Didn’t she always pride herself on her cleric’s amiability and even temper? Hadn’t she gained the love and trust of king and court, not to further her own ambition but because it was her duty as one of God’s servants? She had not felt so much disturbance in her mind for many years. Like Henry, she desperately wanted to know what had happened to Sanglant and Liath, but until Henry mentioned the subject, no one else dared to.
Courtiers fluttered around the king, chief among them the Salian and Ungrian ambassadors. Sapientia clearly preferred the elegant Salian lord who had journeyed here on behalf of Prince Guillaime, but Henry hid his leanings and let himself be courted. As he reached the fountain, he turned away from the Ungrian ambassador to help Theophanu down from her perch. Ekkehard leaped down after her.
“Will I get to ride out to hunt with you tomorrow, Father?” he demanded.
“Of course.” But Henry was distracted by the sight of Conrad’s entourage crossing into the forest. Was he thinking of Sanglant as he watched them go? He drew Theophanu to him, and a moment later he and Villam and several other lords began to discuss the situation in Aosta, leaving Ekkehard to stand helplessly at the edge of their discussion.
“My lord prince. I hope I don’t intrude.” Judith’s young husband Baldwin slid into the vacant space beside Ekkehard. “Perhaps you’ll recall that we met last night.”
“You’re Lord Baldwin, Margrave Judith’s husband.”
“So I am,” agreed Baldwin guilelessly.
For an instant a smirk hovered on the young prince’s lips, but Ekkehard had learned manners in a hard school, and he recovered himself. “Of course I remember you.”
“I’ve heard nothing but praise for your singing, my lord prince. Perhaps in the days to come you might honor us with some songs.” Baldwin was, truly, an exceptionally handsome young man, and Rosvita watched with some amusement as Ekkehard melted under the combined flame of prettiness and flattery.
“I see no reason to wait! We’ll go now. And perhaps you’ll ride out to hunt with me tomorrow.”
“Of course, my lord prince. I am yours to command.”
They strolled away together. Was that Ivar in their wake, looking as sullen as a dried-up frog? She had not been allowed to speak to Ivar, who was under a novice’s vows, but perhaps that was for the best. When Judith and her retinue returned east, he would be safely confined to a monastery, where labor, study, and prayer would circumscribe his day and leave him little time to dwell on that which was forbidden him.
Rosvita shivered, thinking of the silence of the convent. No, indeed, she had not truly been at peace since the day the Vita of St. Radegundis had come into her hands. The mouse’s hunger gnawed at her, unceasing and implacable. She had so many questions, and too few answers.
Where had Sanglant gone? What had happened to The Book of Secrets? Had Liath bewitched him with magic, or had the prince overwhelmed the poor young woman with his attentions? Did Henry’s seeming calm only cover a furious heart that would fester and, in time, erupt in some other form?
“Sister.” Brother Fortunatus had sidled into the garden behind the king’s retinue. She bent close to hear his whisper. “I stood at the lower gate and observed every rider and every wagon. There was no sign of Sister Anne of St. Valeria Convent in Conrad’s retinue.”
“Sister Amabilia has found no sign of her in the lower enclosure either?”
“No, Sister.” She had never before seen him so grim. “She has vanished.”
“It is a mystery,” agreed Rosvita. “Draft a letter, Brother. We must inform Mother Rothgard as soon as possible.”
He nodded obediently and retreated, and his white-robed figure was soon swallowed in the milling mob of courtiers, who had expanded onto all the paths to exclaim over the beauty of the flowers and the grave little sculptures, mostly saints and angels, that populated the garden or waited with the patience of stone in niches carved into the walls.
Judith and the Ungrian ambassador had walked over to the outer wall to watch the last of Conrad’s impressive retinue pass from sight. Rosvita moved closer to listen.