The Burning Stone (Crown of Stars 3)

2

AS they climbed the last long slope, Lavas tower gleamed in the distance, all freshly whitewashed and with a new thatch roof. They topped the rise to see Lavas Holding spread out before them. From here, Alain could see the river curling away through lush fields, the little church, the neat houses in the village, the enclosure, and the tower and great hall, all looking prosperous and busy. By the gates, a large crowd had gathered, and at the sight of Lavastine’s banner a great cheer rose up. At once, the people waiting by the gates lurched forward into an ungainly procession, coming out along the road to greet their lord.

“Chatelaine Dhuoda has made ready for our coming,” said Lavastine.

“Your fields look well tended,” said Tallia. “And your people clothed and fed.”

“That they are,” he replied, not in a smug way, merely stating a fact.

“The church is small,” she added.

“But richly furnished, as is fitting.” He glanced at Alain, then back at Tallia. “There is also a chapel in the tower where we pray each day.”

They rode down to an enthusiastic greeting. Many of the gathered servants and villagers reached out to touch either Lavastine or Alain on the foot as they rode past. Alain noted a number of unfamiliar faces on the fringe of the crowd, people dressed in ragged clothes and with expressions drawn taut with hunger, watching, hopeful.

“Your people love you,” said Tallia. People called out her name and prayed for God’s blessing on her womb. “When we rode through Arconia, the folk would gather to watch us go by. But they feared my parents, they did not love them.”

Lavastine held court in the great hall, an assembly that took all afternoon. He distributed certain items he had obtained on the king’s progress to his chatelaine, his stewards and servants, and the village folk: inks and parchment, iron tools, a bull to be used in common by the villagers to breed their cows, a dozen stout ewes, cuttings from quince, fig, and mulberry trees, and vine cuttings from one of the royal vineyards. There were harness and leashes for Master Rodlin, cooking pots for Cook, and javelins, spears, and knives for the men-at-arms.

“We have an unusually great number of laborers this season,” reported Chatelaine Dhuoda. “We hear rumor of a drought in Salia. Many have come in hope of harvest work.”

Tallia did not even wait to see the tower and grounds but walked out at once with her attendants to give comfort as she could among the poor. Dhuoda led Lavastine and Alain upstairs to show that she had followed the orders sent ahead by the count. A new bed had been built and placed in the chamber the count used as his study.

“This will be my sleeping room,” he told Alain, gesturing to the study. They took the curving stairs up to the sleeping chamber that by custom belonged to the count of Lavas and which he and Alain had shared before. Now the bedspread marked with the combined symbols of Lavas hounds and Varren roes brightened the room, and Tallia’s chests had been moved into place. “This will be yours. In that bed all the heirs of Lavas have been conceived.”

“Even me?”

Lavastine sighed, frowned, and absently patted Terror’s head. By his expression, he looked a long way away—in time, if not distance. “Even you, Son. But God are merciful, and They forgive us our sins as long as we do our duty on this earth.”

Alain walked to the bed, set a hand on the bedspread, and looked back at Lavastine. Walking had been agony twelve days ago when every step meant that his clothing rubbed against his blistered and raw skin, but he had healed, and the nettle blisters had even gained him some sympathy from Tallia. More importantly, they had allowed him to get through the rest of the journey without any further rash incidents that might turn her against him.

But coming home had lifted both impatience and despair from his heart. As Aunt Bel would say: “If you want to start a fire, you must chop wood for it first.”

He had not forgotten the Life of St. Radegundis, which they had listened to while on the king’s progress and which Tallia had so admired. So as quiet day succeeded quiet day, as crops ripened and came to harvest, he walked with her every morning among the poor laborers who had come to Lavas in hope of work and bread. When she spoke of founding a convent in honor of St. Radegundis, he encouraged her. Together with her favorite lady, Hathumod, they spent many pleasant hours with the builder she had brought with her, a cleric educated in Autun, who discussed the traditional design favored by St. Benedicta in her Rule as well as certain modem innovations devised by the brothers at St. Galle.

At night, when they lay down together, he remembered the nettles.

“What of the old ruins the people here speak of?” Tallia asked Alain one day. “Wouldn’t it serve God to build over an old temple and reconsecrate the ground for holy purposes? My attendants tell me that the servants here say there is an altar stone there where terrible sacrifices were performed. They say you can still see the stains of blood.”

She looked so eager at the mention of sacrifices. When she was in this mood, she would often touch him, brush her fingers over his hand, lean against him, all unconsciously. He wanted to encourage that, and yet it would be a lie to agree with her when he simply didn’t know. “It’s laid out with defensive walls. I think it was a fort.”

“But they must have worshiped their gods there. Such people always do.”

“We’ll go ourselves. You can make your own judgment whether the old ruins would be suitable for a convent.”

The next few days he spent with Lavastine overseeing the harvest. It was usual for the lord to bend his own back to cut the first sheaf of grain in each field, for luck, and Alain did not mind the work. It reminded him of his childhood. But Lavastine never let him labor in this fashion for long; that was not a lord’s place.

The expedition was set for the feast day of Raduerial, the angel of song. By the time servants, attendants, and grooms assembled, Alain felt as if they were going on progress, not just a short way up into the hills. Tallia’s ladies chattered excitedly.

Lavastine observed their laughter and gossip with a shake the head. “I do believe,” he said to Alain, “that King Henry selected only those girls who were as empty-headed as possible. If they have brothers, I expect they think of nothing but hunting, hawking, and whoring.”

“Lady Hathumod is not like the others.”

“True. She’s a sober girl, but she came from Quedlinhame with Tallia. I suppose they rid themselves of her because of the heresy. She’s the only one who can pray for as many hours as can your wife.”

“Prayer to God is never wasted,” retorted Alain, a little stung.

Lavastine whistled back Terror, who had gone to investigate a fresh pile of horse manure. “I am more inclined to believe that God values good works above prayer, but let us not argue this point, Son. Lady Tallia is generous to the poor. The king chose wisely when he picked these girls to serve his niece. Tallia will make no useful alliances here.”